Moments in Time
by darksupernatural
Summary: Co write with the wonderful Soncnica. Hunts and experiences in the lives of the Winchester boys, from being hunters to being brothers. Each chapter is a new story. See notes and please Review for us! NOW COMPLETE!
1. Four Roads out of Here

Four Roads Out of Here

**Hey, Darksupernatural here! As a lot of you know I've stepped back from writing just a bit. That doesn't mean that I haven't spent my entire life recently in front of a keyboard, because I think I have. That means I've been working on something different, as I've wanted to do lately, that I hope my readers will enjoy immensely. It's a project with the wonderful, talented, so, so down to earth Soncnica. Girl, This is the first time that time differences really tick me off. Sorry it's so late on your end but I had to work;)  
**

**I mentioned DIFFERENT? **

**Here's how this is going to work. Each update will be two chapters. One of hers and one of mine. It's all posted under my name because it's what she felt would work the best. Each chapter is a different time, a different hunt or part of a hunt. Drop us a review at the end of each chapter if it strikes you to do so and let us know you liked. We're willing to take our chapters and expand them to full stories if we get asked, but you gotta let us know you want to see it…**

**By the way, I don't own anything but the words.**

** TITLE: Four Roads Out of Here**

**SUMMARY: He wonders why he was worth it to his brother.**

**AUTHOR: Darksupernatural**

**Enjoy...**

Gravel shifted under his brown leather boots making him feel like he was slowly being pulled into the earth to disappear forever. His heart missed a beat. _I'll never be found._ Sam shook his head and stepped forward again. As he reached the center of the crossroads a mist shrouded his form, seeping, it seemed through his skin like reaching fingers. It dug through to the very marrow of his bones. He shook his head again, the unruly chestnut locks catching and trapping the mist. Water droplets formed on the strands and slid first to the ends and then down over his cheek taking the path traveled by salt water many times in his life. It was after all the easiest road.

The smell of the yellow flowers, Yarrow flowers Sam remembered, that lined each angle of the road drifted to his nose, a spicy sweet aroma making him nauseous as it floated heavily on the mist. The gravel grated under his feet like the crunch of bone against bone as he shifted and lowered himself to his knees in the center of the road. A breeze picked up, bringing the chill deeply home into his bloodstream once again. The wooden sign post creaked and groaned, sounding vaguely reminiscent of an old door opening as it grated over his raw nerves. Each of the four placards shuddered and tried to remain valiantly pointing the way in four different directions.

Sam looked down at the gravel, not really feeling the bite of sharp edges through the rips in his dark blue jeans. Not caring about the dust encrusted pockmarks that were steadily bruising deep to his bones. He took a deep breath and released it on a quiet, almost haunting sigh. He brushed long fingers softly over the gravel, feeling the texture like sandpaper over the pads of his fingers as he pictured another set of hands doing the same thing. A lone tear left the safety of its companions shining in hazel eyes and blazed the previously followed trail all over again, down his clammy cheek, scorching a path that burned in its wake.

Sam's hands clenched in the gravel and turned the small gray and ebony chips over haphazardly. His breath caught before cascading from him in a rushing wave, bursting from his chest in an ever increasing flurry of sound. Gravel flew as his hands dug with more abandon, tender skin scraping over the coarsest of sandpaper surfaces. Sam sobbed once, his shoulders hunching, flexing, muscles tightening the hoodie stretched over his lean back. The mist that had shrouded him seeped into the gravel, dampening it. Sam dug faster, revealing the deeper stones, still light gray since the mist had yet to lay claim to the dryness and infiltrate every pore of stone. Sam growled low and swept the dry gravel away to mingle with the damp as he swept the dryness from his mouth with a hard swallow and the working of his jaw.

He gasped, _finally_, feeling his abused fingertips claim purchase on cold, dusty metal. Sam forced his fingers under the edge of the box, wincing when gravel split his knuckle deeply. He pulled, another sob ripped from his parted lips carried away by a puff of warm mist. The ground protested losing its bounty and groaned as it finally surrendered the box to Sam's bloody, shaking, grasping hands. He pulled it into his lap and sat back onto his heels. His thumbs played with the hasp, smearing blood mixed with dust over the front of the scratched white metal box. The latch popped free with a soft snick. Sam drew a ragged breath and held it, lifting the lid of the box with a small creak of stiffened hinges. The held breath ripped from his body, leaving him wounded and winded.

His numb mind snapped to action and pained fingers moved to touch what resided in the box. His fingers smeared over a small bottle of alcohol, the white of the label clashing with the black background and the red of his blood. Old coins, some silver, some gold clinked softly against the metal of the box and the glass of the bottle. Sam's fingers stroked black velvet that held the black cat's bone, the shape forming in his mind as he outlined it beneath the soft fabric. Finally a corner of white paper peaked at him from beneath it all. "No." He whispered, fingers closing on the corner of the paper of their own accord, his dread growing as they refused to obey his screaming mind commanding them to stop. Two fingers tugged on the corner of the slightly rumpled, glossy feeling paper and the photo pulled free of the contents holding it prisoner inside the box. His heart dropped into his stomach as the picture brought back memories of a good day. Sam remembered snapping this picture with the camera Dean had gotten him for his eighteenth birthday. It seemed to reveal another life. A happy life. So out of place in the mists of this awful night. It showed a rare moment of Dean, a different Dean. Spiky blond-brown hair topped a smiling face. Fidgeting restlessly as he leaned against the gleaming black car between the headlights, before feigning indifference and hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans that rested snuggly against his muscular thighs. The edges of a brown leather belt peeked out from under his black tee shirt. Tanned arms were relaxed, yet powerful looking as they rested in the sleeves of the shirt. Black boots were crossed at the ankle and a chunk of bronze seemed to glint in the photo as it rested against the muscular yet lean chest. It was a pose that Sam knew well, Dean being invisible, casual…untouchable. Sam remembered lowering the camera and watching Dean's ankles uncross as he pushed off the car. _"Get in the car Sammy."_

Sam swallowed down bile and stood, the box still clasped in his hands. He turned and walked slowly out of the center of the crossroads as the mist seemed to subside, releasing its grip on him. Sam glanced up from the box, tearing his eyes away. The hazel came to rest on his brother's figure standing leaned against the Impala, between the headlights. Gone was the smile, the tanned arms were covered by familiar worn brown leather. Thumbs remained hooked in pockets though, and black boot clad ankles were crossed on the gravel. Sam strode to Dean, his watery eyes hardening. The lid of the box snapped shut. Sam's arm stretched out and the box slammed into Dean's chest, clanking off a small chunk of bronze when it impacted the muscular chest beneath the black tee shirt.

"Why?" Sam asked softly, simply.

"Because I had to." The black boots uncrossed, scraping over gravel loudly in the silence that claimed both brothers. Dean pushed off the car and faced Sam. "Get in the car, Sammy."

**Stay tuned for Soncnica's **_**Burning Bones in the Dark. **_**And don't forget to drop me a line if you liked this. I'll be willing to make it a full story if it's liked but I have to know first.**


	2. Burning Bones in the Dark

**Soncnica's A/N:**

**Hey, **_**waves embarrassed**_

**I kind of feel like I'm trespassing here, because I have no idea what I did, that made Darksupernatural wanna do this 'project' with me…no idea whatsoever. But I'm really honored and really excited about this and I always LOVED her stuff so this 'project' was just an amazing thing to be doing with her. It's really weird where time brings you, you know? Last year I was just lurking here and reading her stuff and now I'm writing stories with her? Awesome.**

**And yeah, I mean how could I have said no to her and to her idea of doing this?! And the ideas that woman has…they just throw me off the chair every time.**

**So, this is my first contribution to this 'project' and I really hope you'll enjoy it.**

**As usual I own nothing, nothing…not the boys, not the song, just nothing….okay I do own the words…but that's it.**

**Darksupernatural's A/N: Don't let her kid you. I asked her to do this project because she's one of the most uber talented people around here, taking basic thoughts and actions and making you feel like you're living within arms reach of the Winchesters. So yeah, when I thought of doing a project where I take a scene and make it "real" I thought, I have to get her to do this with me. I would have begged her until she said yes. So if you like what you read here(and I know you will) check out the rest of her stuff.**

**Enjoy…**

--

**TITLE: Burning Bones in the Dark**

**SUMMARY: A simple hunt…sure.**

**AUTHOR: Soncnica**

"We have our next hunt," a newspaper landed on the bed, right next to Dean's boot, "get your ass up."

"What?" he whined, not quite in the real world yet. He wiped something crunchy from his eye, almost losing the eye in the process, when in the daze of sleepiness he dug his hand in too deep.

"Hunt, now, go," Sam walked into the bathroom, washing his hands. The diner he went too to fetch coffee was just…greasy.

When he came back, Dean was still half laying, half sitting on the bed; his legs crossed at his ankles, heavy boots making a little dent into the already dented mattress. In his hand there was the newspaper Sam gave him, already crumpled and torn at the sides.

"Dean?" he stopped at the side of the bed, his hands going to his hips, taking a stance of anger and impatience. Watching his brother…brows furrowed, an eye darting over the page, his lips tugging up in the corners…something was wrong with this picture.

"Dean?" And he was met with a giggle snort that shook the two coffee cups on the table.

"This comic is freaking hilarious."

"Dean. Really. Man. God," Sam huffed, but his lips were going slowly into a smile, "just get your ass up. Or I'm gonna drive the car." He let go of his hips and crossed his arms on his chest.

"Dude, you touch my car, you're dead."

And just like that the Impala roared to life. Going head on into the next hunt, down a road she goes on way...too...often.

-:-

"So this is it?" Dean kicked a pebble that landed at the wooden door, rotten, almost grayish wood, which was closing the entrance to the mine. A warm wind blew out of the entrance, hitting Sam's face, making his hair fly. He pushed his backpack a bit higher on his shoulder and looked around himself. A forest covered their tracks, a forest full of secrets and birds and shaking leaves. A cold wind came from the there, in such contrast with the warm wind from before…it covered him, made him shiver, made him clutch at the string from his backpack. He had all he needed in there. All he hoped he needed.

The tall trees surrounding him made him feel oddly alone, him standing there like that in front of the broken wooden door. A broken pile of wood that time played with, that time corrupted. Made it rotten, made it forget about all the men that left their blood and sweat there. Lives even.

"KEEP OUT" and "TURN AROUND" and "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK" were the signs that decorated the broken gate. They were small but large enough for a man to push through.

"Why do they put 'keep out' and then 'enter at your own risk' at the same time?" Dean kicked another pebble that hit the right side of the door. The sound echoed through the forest, hit of off Sam's chest and slid down the darkness that was hidden behind the pile of boards.

"Dean, man, leave it." he rolled his eyes and made a step forward. A big, warm hand landed on his chest, right above his heart. Nothing needed to be said…Sam stopped, leaned into the touch, when he couldn't stop soon enough and let Dean take the lead.

Watching his brother's back, he walked after him. The depths of the mine so dark and lonely, Sam thought he was hit with the source of loneliness itself. It nagged at him, clenched his heart and squeezed his chest. Panic arose within deep of him, in depths as deep as the mine's, depths that held his fear for his brother. As dark as the mine was, as dark as the depths were, he was hit by a light. Square in his chest.

"Dean…" he whined, but the whine turned into nothing, when Dean removed the beam from his flashlight and started walking. The momentary heat, he was hit with left Sam. Standing there again, in the darkness made his feet lurch forward.

He caught up with Dean in two long strides. He almost crashed into Dean's back, but stilled himself before doing that.

"Shall we, Sam?" he looked at his brother; standing lost behind him, and shook his flashlight.

"Yeah, I have everything we'll need."

"Let's get this sucker."

"Lead on."

Dean looked ahead and shook his head at that. As if he wouldn't lead. In the depths of this stupid mine, he wouldn't leave Sam lead the way. No way, no how. You never know what the next step will bring.

So he walked. And he stumbled. And he cursed when he hit a big rock that was laughing at him, silently peaking from the dirt covered floor.

"Son of a bitch." Sam collided with Dean's back, his chest going straight into Dean's back.

"Dude?"

"I hit a stone." He sounded like a five year old, and Sam snorted.

"It won't kill you." he cringed inward, the moment the words were spoken. He couldn't pull them back in, he couldn't stop the look Dean gave him '_no, the stone won't, Sammy_'. Those words were written in Dean's eyes, and Sam didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do…being down here, in this darkness, in this emptiness, he lost his sense of pulling back anything that escaped his mouth. He even got a glimpse of a thought that he almost cried over in his mind…will this be the same loneliness that will find him, when Dean will die?

Dean pulled back his look as fast as he left it out and shrugged: "Yeah, one stone won't."

Sam smiled. What else could he do? They both knew how this hunt would go, what happened, what needed to be done…what will happen in a few weeks…or rather what will not happen in a few weeks.

Dean resumed his walk, kicking at the offending stone once more for good measure. He hoped that the stone felt the same pain he did. His big toe was killing him. But he knew it'll pass. Pain always passes; its memories that stick around.

The tunnel was tall if not wide. They had to walk one behind the other, there wasn't enough room to walk side by side and Dean hated that. Even though he was leading the way…he couldn't tell what was hiding in the darkness that was consuming Sam's back. He kept glancing behind him, checking over his little brother and every time he glanced back Sam smiled to him.

Their breathing resonated through the mine, an echo that hit them back when they stepped a step further. Their breathing…the only sound that was even allowed in the deep depths of the mine. All other sounds were just swallowed up by…silence.

It was moist, little droplets of water sliding down the walls, the dirty, brown walls…earth and coal. When Dean's flashlight hit the drops of water they shone like gold…flickered in and out, their shine almost felt alive. It smelled of coal, that weird smell that actually doesn't even have a smell followed them on every step.

"It's freaking hot in here." Dean wiped the sweat that tickled his forehead and ran his hand over his top lip, where the salty water gathered in thick drops. He was having trouble holding onto the flashlight, it kept sliding out of his grasp…a drop of water fall on Sam's hair, slid down slowly, stopping on the tip of his nose before falling down to the pebbly ground. Their boots crunched the dirt and coal that has chipped away during all the years the mine had been out of commission.

They walked further, Dean leading the way, slowly and surly, watching his step, not wanting to add another bump to his toe. Illuminating the path, Sam was in the rear with the blackness enveloping his back.

Who knows what lurks in the darkness that covers you, when you step into the light? Sam turned around, nervously, heart somewhere in his throat, the beam of his flashlight cascading down the rocky wall, and he swallowed and blinked. Nothing, it was nothing. He turned around, back towards Dean. He was met by Dean's flashlight…straight into his face.

"Stop doing that, you're gonna fry my eyes."

"Scared, much?"

" No," he pushed Dean to walk, slid his hand over Dean's shoulder, the denim of his T-shirt wet from sweat, and mumbled at his brothers back, "stupid."

They walked, slowly, not wanting to make much noise, the hunt might hear them and that…that would be a no go.

_In a cavern, in a canyon,  
Excavating for a mine  
Dwelt a miner forty niner,  
And his daughter Clementine_

Sam turned around again, thinking he heard something but there was nothing…just blowing of the wind and complete darkness, separated by the yellow beam from his flashlight.

The corridor narrowed at some point, neither of them really noticing, and Sam had to hunch down, because the hallway just wasn't tall enough…wasn't built for his figure: "Is it just me or did the corridor shrink at some point?"

"Nah, you just got taller."

"I swear the miners were midgets."

"What's your point?"

Sam looked at Dean and how he didn't have to hunch down, and needless to say…he made his point.

_Light she was and like a fairy,  
And her shoes were number nine,  
Herring boxes, without topses,  
Sandals were for Clementine._

Sam turned around again, the beam of light hitting all the little specks of dust in the air, hitting the wall, brightening up those little drops of water and the black coal that was still living in the walls.

Nothing, there was nothing but silence and darkness. Nothing more…and his brother's breaths ahead of him.

"Dean, did you hear something?"

"Yeah, your congested nose…if you're gonna breathe that loud, we can just forget this hunt."

"Funny."

"Yeah well, I try."

"Not succeeding."

The words were whispered into the hot, humid air of the mine shaft.

_Drove she ducklings to the water  
Ev'ry morning just at nine,  
Hit her foot against a splinter,  
Fell into the foaming brine. _

"Okay, you had to hear that."

"What?"

Sam pressed his finger to his lips, and Dean nudged his head and mouthed: "What?"

_Ruby lips above the water,  
Blowing bubbles, soft and fine,  
But, alas, I was no swimmer,  
So I lost my Clementine._

"I definitely heard that."

"Yeah."

Sam slid down his backpack, the soft noise that it made, when it collided with the crunchy floor, sent shivers through Sam's arms, and when he was going through their supply of salt and bandages, the rough voice was heard once again.

_How I missed her! How I missed her,  
How I missed my Clementine,  
But I kissed her little sister,  
I forgot my Clementine._

"She died, you know? Boys…"

Sam turned around and for a second he regretted that action. The man was blue, white in Sam's flashlight, his eyes were predatory in their sadness, his black hair drenched with blood, that was still running down his cheeks, around his nose, into his mouth.

"So did you!" and Dean shot the shotgun, the loud sound resonating through the mine.

"Wow, okay, so…"

"It's here."

"No kidding."

"How much further to the place he died?"

"Ah, Dean…" Before Sam could finish the sentence, Dean heard the gurgling voice.

_Oh my darling, oh my darling,  
Oh my darling, Clementine!_

And the shot rang out again, dispersing the man into little tiny dust particles, which ran around the mine.

"Move your ass, Sam."

They ran; the slowness from before forgotten. The man already saw them, he knew they were here, knew why they were here.

They stumbled and fell, kicking their toes into the hidden rocks in the ground, their flashlights darting all over the place. Not even stopping to take a breath…they found the place. Found the big pile of rocks that hid the bones of the miner.

"Put your hands in good use, Sammy. Come on."

"Awesome."

They moved the rocks, threw them over their shoulders, threw them all over the place, not caring about the sound they made, not caring if the ghost would find them, not caring if they caused a freaking avalanche…the bones needed to be found and salted and burned. Now!

_Thou art lost and gone forever  
Dreadful sorry, Clementine_

"Sam?!"

"I hear it."

In all of the haste Sam was moving in, in every action he made, Dean shot the man straight into his chest. When the ghost left Dean's line of vision, he looked at Sam and his triumphant smile…the bones were a hot mixture of fire and salt.

--

**Next two chapters in a couple days. Remember to drop us a review! Thanks guys and gals. You rock!**


	3. Enjoy the Ride

**Darksupernatural's A/N: As promised to a lot of you, here's today's updates. Two more chapters in this interesting project**** for your enjoyment****. We are having a blast with this and thanks so much for the reviews and making our project that much more fun to do. Remember, it keeps us writing when we know what you think. I put up a little better summary as asked to do but I'm still not sure how to summarize something that's different with every time you read. Sorry :)  
**

**Soncnica's A/N:**

**Another story from under my keyboard... I have to say again that I don't own anything. Not even the title, which I got from Morcheeba's song called Enjoy the Ride.**

**So…enjoy…the…ride**

**TITLE: Enjoy the Ride**

**SUMMARY: on a sunny day, going to a hunt.**

**AUTHOR: Soncnica **

The ride in the Impala was silent, except for the too loud music that burned Sam's eardrums. But he was pretty sure, his eardrums were already burned into ashes, with all those years spent like this…yeah, he was pretty sure his ears were a mess. But monsters…he always heard them. And Dean…he always heard him too. In tune with them, someone might say. In tune with his brother, that's what he would say.

He peeled his eyes from the side of the road, the moisture in them he always carried these days, almost spilling over in the rapid movement. Looking at his brother he smirked. Nothing has changed over the years. Tight jaw and focused eyes, hair plastered to his forehead by the summer heat, freckles on his cheeks that stood out on the pale skin. Tensed shoulders and his arms stretched out, gripping the steering wheel as it should be held. One hand on nine and the other one on three o'clock. As he was taught, as it should be, as it always was. His right hand was tapping the beat on the steering wheel, the silver ring clashing with the leather and the string that held the whole thing together. If the car would be silent, Sam would have heard the _clickclickclick_ of it. Somewhere deep inside…he felt it. All those years…and you can _feel_ certain noises only by casting a look at them.

"Dean?" he tried with a steady voice, barely a notch above the singer's.

No response from his brother, just eyes glued to the road. The long gray stretch of road that seemed endless in its voyage. Endless in time.

"Dean!" he yelled over the song that was pushing through the speakers.

Even yelling from the top of his lungs got him nothing. Just green eyes, turned on the road…not even twitching.

He bit his lower lip and reached his hand towards the radio, his fingers touching the knob. He could feel vibrations through his fingertips, the vibrations of the song, the melody and the chords. The voice, the drums, the guitar. But he didn't hesitate. He turned the knob and silence washed over him for a split second, before his bother's voice found its way to his abused ears: "Hey, whatcha doing? I was listening to that."

"Well, tough." he looked at Dean and caught a frown but that shifted real soon into an eye roll and a tight jaw.

_Dean, please give me this._ Silence in this already noisy world. Jess's screams, the monsters screams, the victims pleas…he just needed silence. Just for this ride.

He could feel Dean's eyes on him from the moment he looked back out the window. He could feel that Dean knew, he could feel when Dean slid his eyes back on the road. Always on the road.

The scenery was flying by with warp speed, as 'warp' as a '67 Chevy Impala could reach before being pulled over by the police. Or ruining the engine. And Dean couldn't have that. Neither of them could have that.

"'s nice here, isn't it?" he bit into his thumb, biting off some of the hard skin there. _It's nice, this, you know?_

"If you think so." _What, riding like this?_

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it, now would I?" _Yeah, riding like this, with my brother._

"Don't get your panties in a twist, jeez." he looked at the road ahead and how it was straight one second and weaving the next, "It's nice." _Just you and me, little brother, just you and me._

The sun was grazing over a meadow on the left side of the car. Resting its rays on the green and brown patches of grass, the sun tangled his heat with the dirt, making it crispy and brown. The road glowed in the sun, lines of heat rising from the asphalt somewhere in the distance, not moving when the Impala's wheels ran them over.

The meadow was a constant in his peripheral vision, Dean could see how the sun laid down its tentacles to place the heat on white daisies, yellow dandelions, violet alfalfas…and in the distance a farmer was cutting it with his state of the art lawnmower.

_He knows nothing about monsters and creatures that lurk in meadows. Poor lucky bastard._

Dean shook his head and bit his tongue before he could voice out anything and averted his eyes to the road. Always on the road.

But even the yellow summer sun couldn't make the road look…not chilling. Couldn't make it look so old. So traveled on. So close. Dean could feel it under him, flaying under the wheels, under his hands. He could touch it through his palm…warm and hard, not in much contrast with the road.

The sun tried to help the road in concealing things that made a road alive...feet, wheels, throwing up, music, lovers quarrels, laughter, break lines, damage from the rain, little pebbles, speed…death.

"Ewwww, man. We hit a bug."

"What?" Sam looked at the windshield and saw the yellow dot in the middle of the glass.

"'s all yellow and crap looking."

"We hit millions of bugs…"

"But this one is huge. Look at the mess…oh baby I'm so sorry, I didn't mean too, the mean bug just came out of nowhere."

Sam wasn't really sure when Dean stopped talking to him and started a conversation with the Impala, but he found it kind of amusing.

"A bug committed a suicide on your baby's window?"

"Shhhhh, baby don't listen to the big, mean man. We'll get you cleaned up in a sec."

"Dean, you're talking to A. Car." But really Sam should be used to it.

"Sam, shut up."

And he turned up his baby's windshield wipers. The water first smudged the yellow gut of the bug into an even bigger smudge and after a few seconds of struggles with the damn thing the wipers finally wiped it off.

"There. See baby? All better." He grinned at Sam and then to the road.

The tiny droplets of water quickly dried off, lost themselves in the heat and the wind. The ones that remained reflected the sun and the clouds, flickering light into Sam's eyes, making him squeeze them into mere slits.

"D'ya know where my sun glasses are?"

"Aaaa," _I sat on them 3 years ago_, "try in the glove compartment." Dean listened to Sam shifting various things left and right, heard things rustling, something falling on the floor and saw Sam lean in to get it, some more rustling and a click.

"Not there."

"Well, I, ah, use mine."

"Where?"

"In the glove compartment."

"You mean that piece of old plastic?"

"Hey, if you don't want them…"

"They are covered in mustard; they slipped from my hand earlier and fell on the floor. No, thank you." he wiped his hands on his jeans.

"You dropped them. 's not my fault they're dirty."

"Well they are. You got mustard on them. I know you eat with your eyes too, but that is just gross man."

"Take it or leave it."

"Leave it. Definitely." He settled back into his seat, the soft leather already designed to his behind when the smell hit him. It hit him hard and it hit him fast. A warm breeze through the open window was all that it took for him to slide back on the seat and sigh.

"Smells good." softly.

"What? The manure or the one week old hamburger wrapper." Harsh.

"The grass, you idiot." Harsh.

"Oh, yeah. Ah, yeah." softly.

And it did smell…fresh. Dean looked at the man mowing the grass, the tiny stems falling dead underneath the sharp edges of the mower. Loosing battle…a familiar feeling. Loosing everything. Loosing your family…life. Home.

"Yeah." softly.

Sam looked back at his dirtier side of the road, the pebbles and throw away cans, and paper wrappers and dead animals. Yup, he got a really nice view…like always. A panoramic view of all things dead. If he could find any humor in it, he would have thought that it was his life he was looking at through the window. All things dead.

And the smell of grass followed his every movement. Scratching his head, removing a fallen lock of hair from his eye, crunching the map he held in his lap, sneezing twice from the over stimulation. Three times going on five.

"Could you close the window?" it was more of an order than a plea.

"Why? It's freaking hot in here." Annoyance.

"Unless you want to listen to me sneeze every three seconds…" going on seven sneezes and a half.

"You," a hand towards the window, "are," gripping the handle, "such," fidgeting with the handle, "a pain," the window going up, "in," and up, "my," up and up, "ass." And the window was closed.

"But you still closed the window." He showed Dean his biggest grin...all white teeth and dimples.

"Shut up, Sammy." An eye roll.

"'s Sam." calmly.

"No," a look towards his brother, "it's," a tug in the corners of his lips, "Sammy." and a full smile.

"Jerk."

"Still a bitch, Sammy."

_He's the only one that gets to call me that. _He could still remember the words he told Gordon.

Not gonna fight with a "Child."

"Who you calling a child, stupid?"

"Well unless that is a baby fly stuck in the back window, ahhh, you."

"Says the baby in the family."

Sam gritted his teeth and smiled. A dimpled smile in the midst of the black interior of the hot car.

Looking at his dead side of the road, Sam didn't even notice when the music came back on. But with his already ruined hearing…who could blame him? But it wasn't as loud as it was before. It was quiet, like holding onto the edges of falling into silence. It was a background noise, an accompanying symphony to their breathing. A noise he can bare. A noise that he could wrap away for later. It's been a while since they left their previous hunt, a day maybe. Or a night. It didn't matter anyway. They were just enjoying a drive to their next hunt…there was no nervousness, no fidgeting, just coolness and togetherness. They've done this a million times already and one more time shouldn't make any difference.

"Is this making you nervous?"

"What?"

"This hunt?"

"Why?" _Ah, the tense shoulders, the tight jaw, the conversation that is slipping into nothing, the music, the pale skin…_

"Nothin'."

"Sam?"

"'s just that," he found a loose string in his pants, "we're gonna be near Kansas," his palm became sweaty as he twirled the string around his finger, "and the last time," he tightened the string, cutting off blood supply to the tip of his finger, "we were there, you," he could feel his fingertip going numb, "ah, didn't feel okay."

"I feel fine, Sam. We won't be in Kansas, we won't even be close." But Dean could taste Lawrence on his tongue, feel it in his bones, even though he was miles and miles away.

Sam let go of the string and flinched as blood begun to flow into his finger again.

"O.K, fine." he resumed his 'keeping my mind of the hunt' routine…keeping himself busy darting his eyes over the map, busy counting the miles, calculating them into hours, busy listening to the song, busy listening to Dean fighting with his stomach.

"Hungry?"

"Could eat a horse."

"I don't know about a horse, man."

"A big steak, or hamburger, better make it two hamburgers. And some French fries. Can't have a hamburger without French fries. Oh and a Coke. And I need me some pie." He emphasized his words with his hand rubbing a small circle over his stomach.

Sam's own stomach rolled a few times, making a squealing noise as it stopped on the thought of food. He swallowed down a thick ball of saliva and could taste a hamburger of his own in there. And some salad; can't have a hamburger without salad.

"What happened to a horse?" Sam chuckled and gripped the map with both hands as it was on its way of sliding down his legs.

"I made it into a hamburger. Now, tell me how far?" his eyes never wavered from the road, the line separating the lanes making him dizzy. Flying by way to fast to be normal, and he eased off the gas pedal. No need to hurry today…just enjoy the ride.

"Uh, not far. Just a couple of hours. You okay to drive?" the last words just slipped out, he wasn't really sure what unnatural force made him say it.

Dean gripped the wheel tighter in his hands and let his eyes seek out Sam's: "You serious?"

A blank mind was all Sam had at the moment and two words managed to escape: "Never mind." But he had to try. Dean had been driving for a whole day now, and somewhere along the way…that will come to play. Sam was in his own world of relaxation, not being bothered by anything but finding a quick route to a diner and then to a motel. That was on his shoulders and all the rest was on Dean's.

**Coming up next is Darksupernatural's** _**Watch Your Step.**_** Don't forget to click that pretty little button that makes us so happy!**


	4. Watch Your Step

**Darksupernatural's A/N: So here's another chapter, another hunt, in our little project. Thanks again for making this so rewarding for us. I enjoyed this one because it let me get to play around with the ideas of what may have happened in a very old house near me that has a reputation. Not that I'd ever step foot in it.  
**

**TITLE: Watch Your Step**

**SUMMARY: Gotta watch those rotten floors. Warning: Mentions slave abuse, nothing too graphic or long lasting.  
**

**AUTHOR: Darksupernatural**

"Oh man Sammy, watch your step." Dean said as he eased up the wooden steps onto the verandah of the old plantation house. The boards groaned and the musty smell of rotten wood, a smell like year old wet leaves, drifted to his nose, making it burn. "This porch is really rotten."

"The roof's bad too. I don't think the inside will be too much better." Sam said as he eased by Dean reaching for the front door. He clicked the rusted door knob open and flinched as the door sagged and cracked off its broken, rusted hinges banging to the porch floor, the corner of it breaking through the rotten wood with a loud crack. Sam looked at Dean sheepishly.

"Make sure your feet don't go through the floor like that." Dean said.

"Yeah, I think this is gonna be one of those rare times I wish I was still seventeen."

"You were too skinny when you were seventeen." Dean stepped by Sam again, going through the gaping hole where the front door had been.

"My point exactly." Sam followed; careful to make sure he followed Dean's steps as the oldest Winchester eased each foot ahead, testing to make sure he was stepping on studs before he shifted his weight. The hundred plus year old house creaked ominously, setting Sam's teeth on edge. Dean stepped into the foyer, running his hand over the antique dresser the rested just inside the door. His fingers dipped and rose as they followed the contours of the hand carved flowers on the corners and the scrollwork across the front of the top drawer. The place would have been opulent in its glory, the wooden floor highly polished, the banister leading up the spiral staircase waxed to perfection and the soft red velvet runner on the steps a cushion that made no sound when walked on. Now each board groaned as if dying, the layers of varnish that would have shone brilliantly under the candle chandelier chipping and flaking, leaving yellowed bits of coating sticking to Dean's shoes and the cuffs of Sam's pants, clinging to the strings of worn and ragged denim as if they were a life line. Old tintypes lined the wall going up the stairs, the frames tarnished and dusty, but the pictures of kids, women, and the men of the house still intact. Sam walked across the floor and pushed open a partially ajar door that led to a tiny room at the back of the stairs. He stepped back quickly, the floor protesting as boards shifted. Sam put a hand to his face, wiping furiously at something there.

"What?"

"Cob webs." Sam said, shuddering. The silky, sticky tendrils wrapped themselves around his face, through his hair, trying valiantly to imprison him as if he were a fly just waiting on the spider to come home. He held his shotgun loosely and pulled more of the webbing from his eyelashes. The sticky, dusty mess tickled and sent chills skittering up Sam's spine. "Guh." Sam said, pulling another web loose from his cheek and wiping it away on his jeans, grinding the sticky dust into his pants. A chill breeze blew through, fluttering the ends of the webbing that remained in the doorway and turning them into a gray, dusty knot of silken terror. Dean stepped past Sam, blocking evil's path to his little brother as he always did. As he always will. He raised the shotgun, pumping the forestock and chambering a rock salt round. The breeze intensified, chilling Dean as the temperature plummeted. A pain filled scream sounded out in the room and the kerosene lanterns flickered to life on their own. Dean brandished the shot gun as Sam raised his own, stepping just slightly to the left to gain a clear shot over Dean's shoulder. Another scream sounded out in the tiny room. One they could now see was used for punishment. Chains and shackles hung from the wall, rusty colored blood stained the wooden walls where the shackles rested, stained the metal itself. A tattered bullwhip laid on a small stand that sat in the center of the room and two steel rings with locks were embedded into the wall at just over head high. Blood droplets, colored with age and malice, stained the floorboards.

A spirit, a black man in ragged pants appeared with his back to Sam and Dean, his wrists locked in the steel rings on the wall, his body held securely as the shorter man had to remain on his toes to keep the shackles from biting into his wrists. He flinched and screamed out, a line of flayed open skin appearing on his back, blood running down to stain the ragged canvas pants. Another line opened up, this time across the man's left shoulder and up the side of his neck. He cried aloud, begging to be left loose, promising to work harder. Dean cringed and fired the rifle into the spirit, causing him to disperse with a howl louder than anything the whipping drew forth. The wind grew and sent the lanterns flickering. A cruel laugh rang out in the pulsating darkness and the snap of a whip could be heard.

"Boy, I'll teach you to mind your place here." A gravelly voice rang out. The whip cracked again, this time flicking out of the darkness and catching Dean on the side. It snapped off his leather jacket and he winced at the impact.

"You sonofabitch!" Dean said, looking at the burn mark that marred the leather, roughening the grain of the material. Dean fired and the spirit screamed, dissipating into nothingness. "You got the mojo bags?"

"Yeah!"

"And you're sure they'll work if we just put them in this room?"

"If not we'll put them in the rest of the house."

"Uh-uh. Nope. Not gonna happen. I'm not letting you go up those stairs just to fall though the freakin' floor somewhere!"

"But Dean," Sam said, looking at his brother.

"End of discussion Sam. Hand me one of those damn bags." Sam pulled the bag of herbs from his pocket, the pungent combination of herbal smells and crossroad dirt assaulting his nose. Dean took the bag and walked across the room, hugging the wall as he made his way from corner to corner. The butt of the shotgun went through the rotten wood paneling with ease and the bags disappeared inside. Dean was on the third one when Sam lifted his shotgun.

"Dean, it's comin' back. Behind you!" Sam angled the shotgun and fired just as the spirit coalesced. It shrieked as Dean hunched into his leather jacket to keep the rock salt that had bounced off the wall from hitting him. Dean stood to make his way to the fourth corner and was half way there when the spirit appeared again, barreling into Sam and knocking him across the room. Sam staggered but remained on his feet as the spirit shoved him. The floorboards groaned, grating as they rubbed together before cracking with a pop that rivaled any shot gun blast. Sam dropped slightly.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, firing at the spirit and making it vanish with a howl. The floor cracked again, two boards splintered and Sam's right foot plummeted through, his left knee stopping him as it hit hard over a stud.

"Gaaah!" Sam cried out. "Dean, the fourth corner! I'm okay. Get the fourth corner!" Dean looked about to protest, a scowl settling over his features, but the spirit chose to make a reappearance right in front of Sam, looming over him with the bull whip raised, not allowing Dean a clear shot. Dean ignored the rotted floor and lunged across the room, kicking a hole in the fourth corner of the wall with his work boot. The foot retreated and the bag of herbs discovered its new home. A flash of white light had the brothers' eyes burning, watering, as the smell of smoke filled their noses and the howl of the angry spirit scorched their eardrums. The floor groaned ominously as the spirit's departure rattled the foundations. Boards heaved and buckled and Sam groaned in pain.

"Sammy?" Dean said as he made his way to his brother, heedless of the floor.

"Aargh! Dean, stop! Freeze!"

Dean did as Sam asked, stilling instantly. "What?"

"Ah, my leg. There's a piece of the floorboard stuck in my leg." Sam groaned, breathing hard through his nose. "It's got me pinned and I can feel the vibration of your steps. Ah, God. Just stop." Sam said, hanging his head as he panted through the pain. "Hurts."

"I'm comin' over. Let me help." Dean stepped carefully, moving after the creaking had stopped and the house became quiet again. He kneeled behind Sam, looking over his hunched shoulder and down through the floor where Sam's foot hung between the studs. His jeans were shredded, blood staining the woven threads of the denim where they peeked from the edges. A sliver of wood as big around as a broomstick was the cause of the hole and Sam's pain. The narrow end of the sliver was still attached to the surrounding board and jagged wood was buried deep in Sam's calf. Dean winced and moved again, putting a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder when his brother whimpered. "Okay. I'm gonna reach down and cut the sliver loose from the surrounding board. 'S not gonna be a walk in the park for ya Sammy but I can't just pull your leg off that. It's at the wrong angle. It'll tear the muscle worse than it has."

"Yeah, I figured that." Sam took a deep breath and Dean chuckled.

"What?" Sam asked, scowling.

"You got big feet, my heavy little brother."

"Bite me." Sam grinned a little before it dissolved into a grimace as Dean lay across Sam's thigh to get his hand, holding his pocket knife down the hole beside Sam's leg. "Guh, just get me loose Dean."

"I will." Dean growled. Then he softened his tone. "I know it hurts. I don't wanna make it worse. Okay?" Dean asked as he looked up at Sam's pinched face, catching his nod. Dean turned his attention back to the knife and began working the blade over the jagged splinters that held the embedded sliver fast to the broken board. After whittling them down slightly and cringing with every muffled hiss that escaped Sam's mouth, Dean sliced through the rest of the broken piece. "Okay Sammy. It's loose. I'm gonna make sure it clears the hole. I'll help ya lift, just pull your leg up." Dean gently put his hand over the sliver, angling it so that the cut end cleared the edge of the hole. Sam cried out as Dean felt his blood running over his fingers. He felt it dripping from his fingertips into the abyss that lurked below the house, dripping into the inky blackness that Dean had seen when he looked into the hole. Dean imagined Sam's blood soaking into the dirt floor of the house's cellar. He cringed. "Okay. Pull Sam." Dean guided as Sam pulled his foot out of the hole and up onto the floor. Dean moved away slightly, pulling off his jacket and then removing his outer shirt. He shrugged back into his jacket, then ripped several strips off of his soft flannel and immobilized the nearly seven inch long sliver of wood where it poked out of Sam's calf muscle. Sam merely paled and grunted as the sliver moved while Dean was tying off the strip of shirt. "Okay. Let's get you to the car." Dean helped Sam stand and took his arm over his shoulders, latching onto his belt loops. They began to walk, the floor creaking beneath the doubled weight, boards shifting and protesting, grating together and groaning.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch your step." Sam grinned as he hobbled beside Dean.

"Oh, I'm so gonna get that thing outta your leg a splinter at a time Sammy-boy."

**Next update in a couple days if you still like this. Don't forget to let us know.**


	5. Silence in the Plastic Room

**Soncnica's A/N: **

**Darksupernatural gave me a plot: Dean alone, Sam watching…and this is what I wrote. Still don't own anything…not even the idea for this story.**

**Darksupernatural's A/N: For giving her a plot bunny that consisted exactly of twenty one words, she ran away with it and made it the perfect jaunt inside Dean's head at the start of another day in his life.**

**Enjoy…the silence…**

**TITLE: Silence in the Plastic Room**

**SUMMARY: Dean just needs a moment of silence before the day crawls out of its diapers.**

**AUTHOR: Soncnica**

The lock clicked so silently, that it didn't even make a sound. Not really, but it was still there somehow. Almost tangible, but elusive. A soft click that resonated through the room, bounced off the floor to the ceiling, off the walls to settle back on the door.

A shadow passed by his bed, and he knew without a doubt that it was Dean.

He could smell him. That aftershave, cheap and _yuck_. It always spread around in the Impala, for which he was grateful, because it overpowered the smell of burgers, but too much is just too much.

And coffee. The unmistakable smell of that rich aroma that can only be…coffee from a diner down the street. That dirty, messy, diner with plastic chairs and plastic tables and plastic counter and oil on the floor…_yuck_.

He could feel him moving around in the room, feel the heavy boots thundering on the soft carpet and the wooden floor. One step, two steps, three steps and a squeal and a soft thud. Dean taking off the cup's cap.

A chair was pulled out, the plastic piece of orange crap that the room possessed alongside the plastic orange table. Its legs scraped the wooden floor, making Sam's ears itch.

Everything was plastic in this town…everything…even the flowers looked like someone made them out of plastic. But they still smelled nice though. _Weird._

Sam shifted on the bed, tangled his long limbs in the blanket. His eyes were still closed, but his body was wide awake. He knew Dean knew he was awake, but he won't say anything…neither of them will.

They just needed this……silence before the dawn…silence in the silent room…silence with only their breathing… silence with the fridge coughing out its lungs…silence before the thunder of the day.

Dean needed to drink his coffee in peace and Sam needed a few more minutes of sleep…of just laying there in the soft, warm bed. Just a few more minutes…of silence and peace.

Sam heard Dean sip his coffee, trying to be quiet, trying to be silent, but the sip echoed through the room. Hitting off the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor until it settled on the cup again. Everything was like that in the room…echoing…maybe plastic had that ability. Who knew?

Sam shifted again and cracked one eye open. Slowly and silently, not wanting to be noticed, not wanting to disturb the silence. Not wanting to give the day a chance yet.

The ceiling was boring white, boring spider webs in the corner by his head, boring water stains near all the dead flies that got caught in the spider's trap. He breathed…slowly, silently. He needed to go to the bathroom, but…silence right now was more important.

Dean would be off soon, talking and singing and just being annoyingly pleasant to hang around. The Impala will soon roar and tremble beneath him, the monsters will scream their last words at him, the innocents will demand salvation from him, comfort…the one thing he can give, and the one thing that he knows he's lying about.

He shifted and looked at Dean. His brother. His family. His blood.

Sitting there on the hard, cold plastic chair, orange like an orange. He swallowed, not wanting to laugh at his stupid comparison. Orange like an orange…yeah the day was still in diapers and his mind was still not functioning.

But Sam's eyes…they were clear as a bell. Seeing everything, seeing Dean. His shoulders hunched down, his muscles relaxed, but twitching from time to time, his jaw tight, his eyes open and aware. The leather jacket was placed carefully on the back of the chair…carefully not to harm it. Not to harm the thing that's third on the list of precious things to Dean. The first two…Sam almost chuckled…but that would disturb the silence so he bit his tongue. Bit it hard, almost tasting blood.

They both breathed. Dean the aroma of the coffee that was rising from the cup, gray smoke going straight into his nose and Sam the mixture of stale air and coffee. His stomach rumbled…he needed bathroom and food. But that would require getting up, interrupt the silence…breaking the beginning of a day.

Dean's right hand was gripping the cup, his fingers tapping a beat on the white paper…AC/DC, maybe Zeppelin…Sam couldn't be sure, not from the angle he was looking at Dean. Not from the silent tapping, that his mind registered as…quiet.

The raising sun; the red, bright light reflected on Dean's ring, coloring the cup into blood red…coffee was black, that much Sam knew.

Dean raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. The coffee wasn't hot, it was warm or else Dean would throw a tantrum…Sam was sure of that. He watched Dean's Adam's apple work its magic…swallowing the liquid. Dean closed his eyes when he took the sip, closed those emerald green pastures, where fear and love grew.

When he opened them again, Sam saw him look through the window.

Yellow curtains on a small window and sun light coloring everything in bright yellow. The red was gone, yellow came to play. Soon the sun would be up, fully up and he would have to get up…leave the softness of the bed.

The sheets were white and warm, the blanket brown and used…and it smelled of…of…cigarette smoke…_yuck_.

Dean ran his hand through his hair…the short, spiky hair…soft like silk. Sam knew the shampoo Dean used, he knew everything about his brother…everything _but_ what he was thinking. Sitting there in the silent room, on the hard chair, burning his palm on the once hot coffee, looking through the small window.

Sam knew what the view was…three trees of indefinable species, four trashcan's full of bugs and smelly food; half of it contributed by Dean, seventeen parking spaces minus one for the Impala, and a neon sign flickering 'No vacancy' in bright orange.

Dean took another sip…another slow sip, another slow taste of the sweet coffee…and Sam breathed. And Dean breathed and cast his eyes back out the window.

How the sun was going up slowly, silently, undisturbed, almost restless in its rise. And the colors…bright autumn cold. Clear and shiny…autumn colors, autumn cold, autumn wind that cuts you to the bone…Sam shifted on the bed again, pulling the itchy blanket closer to his neck, covering his whole body. Just the thought of it all, brought him the chills. Autumn…_yuck_.

Dean sipped his coffee again…it was probably cold already. Sam closed his eyes, put darkness over Dean's form, sitting on a rock solid chair, starring out the window.

The Impala…Dean was watching the Impala. His car, his baby…the second most favorite thing to Dean.

The black car…and Sam could almost see the rising sun reflecting on the slick surface. Almost grab it…the shine, the warmth of the hood, the smell of the upholstery, the feel of the steering wheel, the feel of the engine.

Dean took another sip, this one was quick and long. He placed the cup back on the smooth table and sighed. Slowly and silently.

The day was fully awake now, sun warming up the place, making the room look old and bright.

"Take a picture Sammy, it'll last longer." it was quiet, still in that space between silence and wakening…the words were followed by a sip of his coffee…the last one. He threw the cup in the trash, a perfect hit.

"Dean." it was a sleepy whisper, barely a hint of sound.

"Yeah." he turned around, chased his name through the room to lock his eyes on Sam's.

"What's the time?"

"What?"

The words were so slurred, Dean didn't even catch their meaning.

"The time?"

Sam tried again, swallowing the taste in his mouth, _brush teeth, now_, echoing through his mind.

"Ah, 7am, get your ass up, we have to go."

Sam groaned and put his hand over his eyes, blocking out the bright sunlight.

"What are you doing up so early?"

"Well, got to get you coffee geek, or else we wouldn't leave this plastic joint for hours."

"Oh, yeah." He smacked his tongue on his lips.

"And next time, you get your own coffee, I nearly froze my ass off."

Sam narrowed his eyes to see the window and left Dean's figure just a hazy blur in his vision.

"It's sunny."

"Sure it looks freaking lovely, but one step outside and you turn into a block of ice."

Sam groaned into the mattress that smelled suspiciously like cigarette smoke mixed with something that smelled like dirt.

And all along Dean was thinking about his favorite thing of all times, the first thing on his list of favorite things…Sam.

**Next update coming up. See ya then!**


	6. Ghost Whisperer

**Darksupernatural's A/N: Here's one of my favorite scenes that I had the pleasure to write. Hope you all enjoy the softer side of Dean and Sam. Well Sam because he's like that and Dean because it's anything for Sam.**

**TITLE: Ghost Whisperer**

**SUMMARY: He doesn't just see dead people, he talks to them too.**

**AUTHOR: Darksupernatural **

Black letters on white metal, cold to the touch, blared **NO TRESPASSING UNDER PENALTY OF LAW**_**.**_ The stiff wire of the chain link fence bit into two sets of strong hands as fingers found purchase and helped muscular bodies scale the fence around the old school. They were unseen in the nearly moonless night, silent except for the scuffing of boots against metal links. Up and over the fence, landing on the other side with bent knees kept purposely soft to deaden sound and ease the impact of their weight against the grass that in just a few hours would glisten with morning dew.

"Come on Sammy." Dean said as he led the way in the dark up the five mostly intact concrete steps that led into the building that housed their hunt. The sign above the mahogany doors, stain and shellac peeling away with age, read **Mount Redding Grammar School**. No one called them that anymore. The term was as forgotten as the building. Crumbling in its lack of usage, forgotten by the light of day like a child's bad dream in his father's arms. Dean stepped into the doorway, bolt cutters drawn from the duffle bag that he'd slung over his shoulder after scaling the fence. A metallic clang rang out loud in the still night as the jaws of the heavy cutters bit through the rusted metal of a forgotten lock. Metal met concrete and the concrete chipped as the lock was pushed from the hasp and fell to rest on the second step, teetering on the corner before falling soundlessly to the grass.

"Yeah." Sam followed Dean up the steps after scuffing his boots with a grating rumble on the pebbly concrete of the five long cement steps. Finally through the doors with the sloughing of a little more ancient stain and shellac and two flashlights were clicked on and held loosely in two strong hands. Beams of light, powered by always fresh batteries filtered through stale air and lit on dust covered white tile. Cobwebs covered corners, dangling down onto pea green metal lockers and gracing the corners of closed off doorways like the sheerest of delicate lace. Dust stirred from two sets of boots and danced in the light of the twin beams like mist. Noses itched and eyes scrunched just slightly tighter to protect the hunters' sight. They were silent now, alert to all noise around them. The whisper of fabric over muscle and metal signaled Dean's removal of a shotgun from the canvas duffel. A soft click and the safety was off. They continued forward, footfalls muffled just slightly by dust on the tile floor. Sam sniffed, his nose irritated by the granules Dean's feet were stirring. Sam's own gun came up and the barrel crossed above the flashlight he held steady. They rounded the bend in the hallway and heard the rustling of something in front of them in the darkness.

The short hairs on Dean's neck stood up, Sam could see them as his light played off the back of his brother's head, making the golden brown hair sparkle and illuminating the gray dust that frosted the tips of each spike at his crown. As Dean's flashlight panned ahead of them for several feet swirling papers, yellowed with age and gritty with the thick layers of dust swirled in a hall that should have no moving air. No breeze assisted Sam's hand as he pushed his long wavy hair from his face, his breathing speeding up as he realized the hunt was near. They stepped forward silently, lethally. Sam moved to the side of Dean to gain a clear shot as the temperature dropped several degrees and the paper danced in the bluster. The temperature dropped enough that puffs of breath fogged the air in front of Sam's wary hazel eyes. The papers swirled as the wind finally launched it's stand against the hunters, buffeting them with enough force to make them lock their knees to stay upright. Sam's hair cleared his face and whipped about his ears and collar, stinging slightly as it struck his neck and cheeks. The paper tried to bury them in it's swirling mass, shaking the dust free to coat them with the smell of must and age, the grit of disuse.

"Gah!" A dust choked voice cried out in the beam of the flashlight.

"Dean?!" Called another choked voice. "What? You okay?!"

Dean turned slightly to Sam and the side of his face was illuminated in the beam of the flashlight, smudged with dirt. A thin line of crimson decorated his cheekbone and dripped in a tiny rivulet down his stubble covered jaw. "Freakin' paper cut hurts!" he growled out before something caught his eye and he turned back, Sam's light once again illuminating the back of his hair before the form in the distance caught Sam's attention and the beam once again shifted. The paper whirling so viciously suddenly dropped to the floor and settled, only the finest particles of dust shimmering through the beams and obstructing airways and making eyes gritty with pain.

She appeared to them then, a shimmering form, dancing in her own murky, indistinct light. A small girl, no more than a child wearing a plain gingham dress in a muddy beige color. Her chestnut hair fell in curls, cascading over the front of her slim torso. A plain white hair ribbon, now darkened with age, circled her head behind her ears and rested on the top of her head in a bow. Sad eyes of an indistinguishable color from a distance looked at the hunters, lacking malice or emotion.

Sam breathed a half sigh, half sob. "She's beautiful."

"Sammy, she's a spook."

Sam shook his head, dust falling off his own chestnut waves. "No, she's not here to hurt anyone. She never was." He said as the little girl stared at him, silently.

"What are you, the freakin' Ghost Whisperer all of a sudden?" Dean said, not lowering his gun from her position or turning to face his brother.

The spirit wavered and blinked out of existence. Suddenly she was right in front of the youngest Winchester, staring up at his towering form. Sam gasped, startled at the green eyes that bored into him, looking aged well beyond the child's few years. Dean whirled then, gun leveled on the tiny child's back. "DEAN NO!" Sam cried, unable to take his eyes from the ghostly child in front of him.

"I think maybe I am meant to do that this time." Sam said in a voice just barely above a whisper. "It's okay."

"Sam." Dean warned as he watched his brother sink slowly, slightly warily to one knee, his jeans greedily soaking up the dust that coated the cold tile.

"Dean, really. I think its okay." Sam said as he watched the little girl's eyes follow him down until she could look directly across and meet his hazel gaze. She remained impassive, the wide, vibrant green staring deep into his own. Silence bounced between them, feeling tangible, the substance of quiet drowning out breathing, even existence.

Dean stared at the spirit, at his brother at the same time, seeing his face through her form as if looking at Sam through a fog. The gun never wavered, the flashlight now held in a white knuckle grip as the beam fixed just far enough on to the figures to give Dean the clearest shot he could get.

"Hi." Sam said in his softest voice, addressing the child. "My name's Sam."

She just cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, sending one side of her dark waves to hanging just an inch below the matching ones over the other shoulder. She was silent and yet spoke volumes. Sam nodded, understanding what she was saying without her having to say a word.

"You shouldn't be here. You don't belong here. It's okay to go." Sam said gently after her head straightened back to its original position.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned. Sam just raised a hand and motioned for Dean to quiet.

"It's okay." Sam said to Dean, and then returned his full attention to the specter before him. "It's time for you to rest." Sam said, blinking gathering moisture from his hazel eyes. She looked at him again, her head now tilting to the other side. She smiled and nodded once, a barely visible inclination of her head. She reached out a tiny hand and moved to touch his face. Sam forced himself to remain nonthreatening, breathing deeply to bring tranquility to his features. The small hand never touched his jaw, instead it faded away. A tiny whisper echoed through the tunnel that was the dark, abandoned hallway. _"Thank you Sam."_

Sam sagged, his other knee crashing to the tile and stirring up dust. His head dropped to his chest and Dean was on him, falling to the floor beside him, the gun clattering to the tile, the metal to cold flooring somehow ear splittingly loud in the silence. "Sam?" Dean questioned harshly as he lifted his brother's lowered face to peer intently into his Sammy's clouded features.

"I'm okay Dean." Sam whispered, sagging again, this time into his brother's flannel clad arms as Dean held him close.

"Ya sure?" Dean whispered himself now, his chin on top of Sam's head.

He felt Sam's nod and needed nothing else.

-x-

Sam looked up from the laptop as Dean walked through the motel room door with two coffees in hand. He handed Sam one and sipped the other, leaning on the small desk next to the laptop. He crossed his feet at the ankle and turned his head as Sam pushed back from the desk and clasped both hands around the cup, leaning his elbows on his thighs. Dean watched his brother's long fingers fiddle with the plastic pull flap on the lid of the disposable cup.

"Her name was Laura. In 1906 she was playing on the field during the recess after class. The boys were playing stick ball and she was caught with a line drive to the temple. She fell but it didn't kill her outright. It was an accident. The boys went to the teacher right away. He was a real piece of work. What we now call a pedophile. He sent the kids home with the idea that he would take care of her, get her to the town doc. Instead he took her inside and told her he would help her. He told her not to move. She died and he hid her in the wall at the back of a closet. Brain hemorrhage. Her body was found in 1940 when the district started to remodel the school to use it again. She," Sam sighed raggedly, "was lost and didn't know how to leave the school. All she needed was someone to tell her it was okay for her to leave."

"And you did."

"I did." Sam sipped his coffee as he felt the heat of Dean's strong, calloused hand on his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. Dean's palm rested just above Sam's collarbone and his fingers brushed the top of Sam's shoulder blade. The squeeze that followed mended the crack in Sam's heart.

**Next update soon. Please review! We love hearing what you think about each of our chapters.  
**


	7. Fights

**Soncnica's A/N**

**This was supposed to be 'the boys fighting in a mean kind of manner' and it sort of came out 'the boys fighting in a laughing manner'. You'll see what I mean…oh and yeah, I still don't own anything.**

**Enjoy…**

**TITLE: Fights**

**SUMMARY: Living in pockets…never ends well, or does it?**

**AUTHOR: Soncnica**

**--**

"Ugh, gross man." Sam's fingers came off the keyboard sticky.

"What?" innocent.

"The keyboard…'s all sticky."

"Huh?" still innocently from the bed nearest the door.

"You didn't…" Sam's voice trailed of into thoughts he really didn't wanna have, "What the hell did you do?"

"What Sammy? You 'fraid you got your hands…"

"Just stop there, just…"

"Relax, I was starving and ate some chocolate."

"With my laptop?"

"Yeah, Sam…I offered it a piece…moron."

-:-

"Dean, again with the dirty socks."

"So what?" he rolled his eyes.

"Put them on the floor next time, would ya? The sink is for, ya know, washing your hands."

"God, Sam can you stop being so stuck up?"

"Sure, yeah…" Running water and a lot of rustling.

"What were you doing?"

"Brushing my teeth. Your socks are definitely clean, now...if you're interested."

"On my socks?" he rolled of the bed and barely managed to swing by Sam on his way to the bathroom.

-:-

"Dean," Sam's voice came from the bathroom, before his face managed to, "where's my toothbrush?"

"The pink thing?"

"My toothbrush."

"I..oh…I don't know where you keep things." And a click that changed the TV program from screaming to shooting.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"My toothbrush?"

"The car needed some fine cleaning."

"Dude, you're sick."

"At least my teeth are gonna be clean."

"Don't count on it."

-:-

"Sam, where's my shirt?"

"Duffle." With mouth stuffed with French fries.

"Checked." Running all over the room and stopping by the bed.

"Ah, the car?"

"My baby doesn't steal."

"Ah..I…don't…know?"

"Sam, my favorite shirt?!"

"Ah, a, washing machine?" he tried to go with the most innocent face, he could ever muster…but it was lost on Dean.

"Sam, we…that was two states over. Like," he counted mentally, "2 weeks ago."

"Well it took you long enough to figure it out…'s not what I call a favorite shirt."

Sam ducked a pillow just in time.

-:-

"Dean, what the hell is this…thing?"

"It's what humans on planet Earth call food."

"It's not from Earth...it's got some green shit all over it."

"Well, then you know it…like old pals, huh."

"What?"

"Nothing…'m just contributing to science."

"What, we're here only one week and you're already breeding a new life?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"You're disgusting, that's what." and the pizza found its new home in the trashcan.

"Look who's talking."

"What?"

"You and your cleanliness. It's freaking me out."

"Whatever."

-:-

"Dude, where's my coffee?"

"Oops." Sam paled, ghost white, transparent even…and then laughed.

"Bitch."

-:-

"Man, please find something else to watch."

"What? This is the only thing on."

"No, I'm sure it's not." The sounds of animals echoed through the room.

-:-

"Sam!!"

"What?"

"What the hell did you do to my car?"

"Nothing."

"There is a scratch here, you…what happened?"

Sam touched the scratch, and smiled. "It's just dirt, Dean."

"No, it's a scratch."

"It's dirt."

"Scratch…"

"Dirt…"

"Scratch…"

"Dirt…"

"Scratch…"

"Dirt…"

Sam huffed, and put his hands on his hips: "Did you try to wipe it off?"

"

Yeah…" scratching the back of his neck.

"With water?" slowly, like talking to a child.

"Ah, yeah."

"Rub harder." And he walked away.

-:-

Sam was sitting behind his laptop and cleaning the chocolate from the keyboard, methodically and efficiently. It smelled like chocolate, but he had his doubts. A package dropped near his hand that was gripping the washcloth.

"Here."

He looked at the package and took it in his hand. A sudden urge to throw it at Dean's head washed over him, and when he looked up to aim at his target he saw Dean sitting on the bed, with a six pack near his thighs.

"Beer?"

"Sure."

The clink of bottles was the only thing heard in the room among the dripping water from the bathroom and Sam's: "Pink, again?"

"It was the only one they had."

And another clink of two beer bottles. _'m sorry._

**--**

**Next update in a little bit. Will be Darksupernatural's_ Split Knuckles and a Sense of Justice._ Please review!**


	8. Split Knuckles and a Sense of Justice

**Darksupernatural's A/N: So I wondered what would really tick Sam off besides something hurting his brother. From the glimpses we've gotten of his time with Jess and how he treats women, in general, I would think it would be someone hurting a woman. Here's my take on that. Sammy gets to be a hero. Side note here: supernaturalsammy67: Keep smiling Fee!**

**Also gotta thank all you great people for the rockin' reviews. A few of you want to see certain stories and I've already caved and begun work on one. you'll see it eventually. And Please, keep reviewing for us. We love to hear from you. We're just about to start posting on the second set of ideas we've come up with. Let us know if you'd like to see a round 3. Love ya. Enjoy...**

**TITLE: Split Knuckles and a Sense of Justice**

**SUMMARY: Not a lot pisses off Sam Winchester, but when it does...**

**AUTHOR: Darksupernatural**

Sam's eyes narrowed at the cruel words directed at the waitress that he heard from several tables away in the crowded bar. "Hey Bitch, make yaself useful and gimme a beer!" Dean heard too and his head snapped to his brother's face, knowing that Sam wouldn't sit idly by and watch as a woman was degraded. Sam's eyes zeroed in on the loser and the waitress that was his target. A pretty woman with long dark hair shied away from the loud biker.

"Sam--." Dean said as he watched his brother carefully, his second beer forgotten.

"No Dean." Sam said through clenched teeth as he stood silently, lethally, from the bar stool. Dean watched as Sam's hunter persona slid firmly into place over the college boy-easy going-old-ladies-swoon-all-over-him-geeky little brother.

"Sammy?" Leather creaked as Dean moved off the other stool quickly as Sam stepped away from their seats and his half finished first beer of the night. Sam stopped and Dean cut in front of him, looking up, yes looking up, into his little brother's stoic face. The only trace of anger Sam displayed was subtle, visible only to Dean who had seen it before.

"Scum bag needs a lesson in manners, Dean." Sam spoke quietly, his nostrils flaring as his hazel eyes darkened to a stormy blue-green. There's the sign Dean saw. Sam's display of anger, all held in his eyes, completely unnoticed by anyone who wouldn't have known Sam better than he knows himself.

Dean put a warm hand to Sam's chest. The silver ring worn on his right hand twinkled even in the wan light filtering through the smoky haze in the biker bar. "Not your business Sammy. Sure, the dude's a friggin jerk but…" Dean was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and a woman's scream that closely followed the _slap_ of flesh against flesh. The man's voice bellowed in the now deathly quiet of the normally raucous bar. "That'll teach you to bring me warm beer, ya worthless piece a trash!" Dean turned and gaped as the waitress stumbled past him with a vibrant red handprint on her face and tears making her brown eyes luminous. "Oh that's it. Screw hard knocks. Scum bag's gettin' a lesson at the school of Winchester!" Dean strode up to the man, an over weight, leather clad biker with a graying, greasy ponytail. He stood behind him silently while Sam moved out in front of the man, staring down at him with his arms crossed. Muscles bunched beneath Sam's soft gray flannel and strained the sleeves where they were rolled nearly to his elbows. The bleary eyed drunk looked up at Sam and smiled drunkenly.

"What's got you so huffy, pretty boy?"

"You, leather head. Apologize to the waitress."

"And just why the hell would I wanna do that, huh? So you can go back to your boyfriend and make nicey-nice?" The burly man started to lift himself from the chair. Dean clamped both hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down hard.

"I suggest you do what my brother says, no-neck."

"Go to hell!" The man said, shaking Dean off and shoving him back hard as the man propelled the chair back from the table. Dean stumbled but remained on his feet, meeting the man's lunge as he turned from his spot and went for Dean's throat. Dean blocked the man's beefy hands and shoved them down, rotating his own elbow to come back with an uppercut to the man's bearded chin. His head snapped back and he stumbled back a single step before righting himself and charging Dean again. Sam circled around and joined Dean in the fray. Dean crouched low to make the man alter his height for the lunge meant to take Dean out by the ribs. Sam swung his right elbow down across the back of the man's neck, dropping him like a stone. The man's friend stood from the table. This man was wiry, nearly skinny with matted brown hair and tobacco stained teeth and hands from the full ashtray that had rested in front of him. The man's blue work shirt had a patch on the chest that read 'Butch'. His long face was stubble covered and his yellowed teeth reminded Sam of a rat.

"You want in on this Butch?" Sam asked as he stood back with his arms spread open, palms out in a gesture that was classic for him. _Bring it._

"Two against one's low." The man gritted out as he crouched, ready to lunge at Sam.

"You want fair?" Dean said as he bent and jerked the dazed drunk to his feet. "Get up Tubby, and let's do this." Dean watched the man's face transform with rage at having someone get the better of him. He swung at Dean repeatedly, getting redder in the face with each intended punch that Dean easily blocked. The rat man shoved a hand into his pocket quickly and pulled a chromed knife. A click was heard, loud sounding in the bar that had gone silent to watch the fight. The wicked blade flashed in the light overhead as it was released with a _whoosh. _

_Should have known one of them would be packin'. _ Sam thought. Rat man lunged, feinting left with the knife, an amateur move as Sam sidestepped to the right and grabbed the knife hand in both of his, bringing a knee up into the back of the man's elbow. A loud snap and a howl from the man were nearly drowned out by the groans and cheers of the crowd that had closed in around Sam and Dean, watching the fight with glee. Sam drove an elbow into the man's hooked nose and he grunted, dropping to the floor with a splatter of blood. Sam turned the knife in his hand and threw it, launching it directly at a dart board that hung on the wall of the bar about fifteen feet from where Sam stood. "Don't give that thing back to him. He'll just hurt himself." Sam barked to the patrons of the bar. They roared with laugher as Sam turned to face the man launching a drunken but furious attack on Dean. Two men dragged rat man out into the parking lot of the bar and quickly returned to watch the remainder of the fight.

The large biker was furious, howling in rage as he flung his fists in rapid succession at Dean. After several blocks a left hook caught Dean in the jaw and swung his head to the right. Sam growled at seeing Dean staggered under the force of the blow and tapped the man on the back, feeling warm, cheap leather beneath his finger.

"Hey Tubby?" Sam questioned sweetly. The man turned just in time to receive a right hook from Sam. Three of Sam's knuckles split under the force of the blow but the burly man remained on his feet, howling in pain and clutching at his bloodied, broken teeth. "That's for m'brother." Sam said, driving a knee into the man's midsection and then into his nose as he groaned and dropped to his knees. Sam spun, bringing his right leg up in a kick that caught the man in the head, knocking him to the floor in a motionless heap. "And that…" Sam took a calm breath "…was for the waitress. Jackass."

The crowd cheered and the waitress that had been abused stepped forward. Sam stepped over and stood beside Dean, flexing his bloody hand. Dean looked at Sam's hand, holding it up in the smoke tinged light. "I'm alright Dean." Sam said, taking back his hand. He looked at the waitress as she smiled, her puffy cheek doing nothing to take away from her looks.

"I wanted to thank you guys. I'm Susie and Joe here…" She said, gesturing with a hand to the bartender. "…wants to buy you guys a drink."

Dean smiled at her. "I don't know about you Sammy, but I could go for a beer. Provided someone hauls tubby there out to the parking lot."

"Sounds good to me Dean." Susie smiled widely and got them both a beer. She came back with a clean, damp towel and wiped the blood from Sam's knuckles. He smiled sheepishly as she kissed his cheek.

"Thanks again guys. Enjoy your drinks."

**AWWW, Yay Sammy! Next update next week. Thanks again. You guys are great!**


	9. The Still Lake

**TITLE: The Still Lake**

**SUMMARY: or is it?**

**AUTHOR: Soncnica**

**A/N: well, ah…enjoy?!**

--

The orange sunlight bled over the still surface, turning crystal blue water into red, bloody mess of…stillness. The trees around the lake were looking themselves in the mirror that the water enabled; how the Fall made them bald, made them loose their precious leaves, leaving their branches bare and thin, scattering the leaves all along the lake, throwing them in the water; leaving them there to rot. To die. One wave interrupted the brown leaves that were bathing on the edge of the lake, one wave that nearly stopped Dean's heart.

"Dean!!" his throat hurt from yelling his brother's name over and over again.

"Dean!!" the sweet taste of water invaded his mouth on the last word he said to his brother…he could see him, running down the shore, the sun on his back, the look of horror on his face…and then the water swallowed him again.

"Sam!!" the noise that the little pebbles were making under his shoes, was driving him insane…he couldn't hear Sam clearly, could only touch the edge of Sam's gruff voice.

Another wave disrupted the calm water, sneaking straight to the shore, moving the sand up a little, moving the leaves and depositing them on the shore.

"Sammy!!" his voice echoed over the water, stilling the wave.

He was hit with it, it hit his shoe, and it hit the edge of his jeans…the wave that pulled his brother's body down. Down to the dark depths of the lake, down to the depths that held…the thing.

He was sinking, sinking so low, so low, so deep…into the darkness. Into the depths that were only reserved for decaying leaves and twigs and dead fish and other…natures rejects. But not for him. And that thought, the thought that he doesn't belong in the depths was what moved his hands, it was what made his arms flail, trying to grab onto something, but all his fingers touched was the soft, cold squish of water.

_No, no, no, no, Dean!!_

He opened his mouth to scream, _Dean_, only to be filled with water, a strange taste of…calmness, clarity.

He was falling, falling so deep, so low, he didn't even know where he begun and where he ended. It was all a blur of mixing colors, orange, red, black, brown, white…there was no up, no down...it was just falling. A free fall that would end in his death on the sand covered floor, among the dead fish and decaying leaves and…stuff.

There was mud in his mouth; he knew that, because he could feel it settle between his teeth, on his tongue, in his throat. The pressure in his ears was squishing his brain into pudding, blood flowing through his body, too fast, too loud, too bright.

And there was darkness with small lines, dots of orange light when he opened his eyes…and they burned from the sweetness of the water, the coldness of it.

_Dean!! Dean…_

And he was falling again, legs heavy, upside down, jeans low on his hips, and his shirt in his face, his arms lost in the void of the water, in the loneliness of it. In the coldness of it…he felt the pressure on his chest, in his lungs…

_Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe…Dean!! _

It ached at first, the incapability of breathing; it was a dull ache, which turned into a blinding pain, a hurt so deep…it burned.

_DEAN!!_

He needed air, he needed to breathe, that's normal, breathing is normal, and his lungs were burning up…no air, just water, just silence in the water. Just silence in the lake…the too still lake, the too peaceful lake...where people drowned…died.

It hurt, it hurt so bad…not breathing…it burned, it ached…flashes of things, images…Dean a boy, his Dad, Bobby, Jess, Dean, Dean…

Something grazed his face, slimy and long…a fish, his brain told him, but his senses said…the thing.

Something pulled at his leg, wrapping itself around his ankle…lake grass, his brain told him, but his senses said…the thing.

Something hard and thin wrapped around his waist…the thing his brain told him, but his senses said…Dean.

He lost the battle then, he lost the fight he had in him, he lost the tickle of his hair when the water moved the locks just right, he lost the sense of everything…the colors were black now, the water was in him, around him, the scorching burn in his lungs was forgotten when his brain no longer registered it…the only thing that was there, the only feeling that his body still registered was the strong grip Dean's hands had on him…and the blind faith…trust that every cell in his body possessed, that his brother will save him.

God his brother was heavy…thin sure, but heavy as a log. All bones and muscles…and dragging his unconscious 'too big for his own good' brother out of the water was just too much. After almost loosing him, after almost not grabbing him in time, after…seeing him go down…under water…just…like that…it hurt.

"Sam?!"

No answer, just a wet body, too silent and too still laying on the shore. Face wet, hair wet, eyes closed, the brownness of them lost to the setting sun, his chest not moving, his mouth slightly parted, thin lips, blue tinged.

"Sam!!"

The water was dripping from his own hair, droplets of it falling onto Sam's cheeks, forehead, nose, neck, chest…to wet, to still, not breathing…to cold.

There were touches…

_Sam… _

There was air…

_Breathe, damn it…_

There was cold…

_Sammy, no, no, no…_

There was warmth…

_That's it, Sammy, 's okay… _

And there were words…echoes that slipped into the dark place he was in…

_Sam, you're gonna be fine,'s _gonna be fine, Sammy_… _

And there was the pain of coughing his lungs out. And there was the pain of realization that he nearly lost his brother. And there was a touch, a soft pat on his back and the water came spilling out of his mouth again, hitting the pebbly floor, and bringing to life the words: "Sam, lay off my shoes."

He would laugh; he really, really would…if his throat wasn't on fire.

The setting sun finally drowned behind the lake, leaving its surface dark and still again. Leaving it to the moon and the stars…leaving it to the forest. Leaving it in peace.

"You okay?"

"Yeah…"

"Just breathe, man."

The soft pressure of Dean's hand on his back was…soothing.

"Breathe, Sammy."

"'s Sam."

The hand was still…soothing.

"

We have to go, Sam…you're wet."

"So are you."

"Yeah, well…"

A beat of silence to accommodate the crickets and the early night birds.

"Well, you know…thank you…for…you know…"

"Yeah, just don't let your guard down again."

Instead of an answer Sam coughed…falling on all fours, barely catching himself on his hands he felt the strong grip of Dean's hand on his chest, smoothing down the tremors:

"Breathe Sammy."

"'s Sam…" he wheezed out between the coughs.

Dean patted his chest, making him ache and moan, but the pat brought more water from his body: "Oh God…"

"Yeah, you'll be fine. Doctor it is, Sammy."

More coughs into the silent night.

--

**Stay tuned for Darksupernatural's _Cold._ It's coming up next. Please Review!**


	10. Cold

**Darksupernatural's A/N: We're back. Thanks so much for the reviews and all of the messages supporting us. Still don't own them, just this.**

**TITLE: Cold**

**SUMMARY: Yeah, snow generally sucks.**

**AUTHOR: Darksupernatural**

The calm of the forest was shattered by the blast of Sam's rifle. The reverberation echoed painfully through the quiet and brought snow out of the tops of the pine trees nearby. It landed with a soft plopping sound, disappearing seamlessly into the foot deep layer that turned the terrain an eye burning white. Everywhere it was white, painfully so. Everywhere except several feet in front of Sam. There the snow was splattered with red. Blood. _Oh god, don't let it be Dean's. If you've ever heard a thing I've asked for don't let that be Dean's blood. _There was so much. Too much. Sam rushed forward, sliding to cold knees in the snow. He ignored the cold, the pain stinging his skin and the white blinding his eyes. "DEAN!" Sam called, loud in the now silent forest. Sam's rifle was forgotten, left behind him to lean against one of the trees valiantly braving the Minnesota winter. Sam reached out with heavily gloved hands and reached for the thing blocking his visual contact with his brother. Something he so needed. It was like needing to breathe. The need to see Dean. To make sure he was alive. It was more necessary for Sam than his next bit of air. Sam forgot to breathe.

"Dean. Come on man. Tell me you're okay." Sam said softly. _Dean. Dean. Dean._ It became his mantra. The chant continued in his mind. The need spurred him on and he reached out to remove that which barred him from his brother. A heavy, smelly, gray furred body rested on top of Dean's crushing him into the snow. Blood marred and matted the gray fur on the beast's back, steaming as the heat of life left it to dissipate into the atmosphere as if it could warm the earth. Sam heaved, both hands sinking into the coarse fur, imagining he could feel the scratchy texture of it even through his thick gloves. The creature flipped over and Dean's body was exposed to Sam's eyes. He was still. Too still. Face down and half buried in snow. "Aw, God." Sam quickly and efficiently checked Dean for injuries after ripping the gloves off his hands so that he could touch properly. Finding nothing serious he rolled Dean quickly to his back. Dean's head lolled in the snow, his mouth slack. Sam stared on for a second, realizing Dean had snow packed in his mouth. Sam quickly reached chilled fingers beneath the back of Dean's head and turned it to the side, putting two fingers of his other hand behind the snow and pulling the mess out of his brother's mouth to clear his airway. Dean gave a strangled gasp and coughed roughly.

"Easy. Easy Dean." Sam said as he slid his thighs under the back of Dean's head. "Hey, anything broken?"

"Guh..." Dean's teeth were chattering. "N-n-no. 'm c-c-c-cold. So f-freak-kin' c-cold." He shook like a leaf in a windstorm, his head thumping off Sam's legs in its intensity.

"Okay, Dean. Car's only about three hundred yards east. Getcha back to the car." Sam stood and brushed his knees off; the snow that had melted there soaked his jeans and made his skin sting as the coarse denim rubbed over it. He stooped to help Dean to his feet and stopped when Dean looked at him.

"W-where 'r y-your g-g-gloves Sam?"

"Here, okay?" Sam reached for his gloves that had been discarded in the snow. He slipped them back on, missing the warmth that had seeped out of them to be lost to the winter.

"W-why'd ya t-take 'em…"

"I didn't think you wanted Bugbear fur in your mouth. Ya weren't breathing Dean." Sam said as he hoisted Dean to his feet, steadying him as he swayed dangerously. Dean still shivered, pulling his heavy coat tighter to his shaking frame.

"Freakin B-bugb-bear amb-bushed me."

"Come on. Let's just get to the car. Getcha warm." Sam reached for Dean, expecting to be swatted away._ I know Dean's gonna claim chick flick._ Sam was prepared to roll his eyes and tie his brother's hands together if it would let Sam stay close and share what little heat he could while they moved. Dean leaned into Sam as Sam wrapped an arm around his back. _Shaking. I can feel him shaking so bad. _Sam felt the chill of melted snow everywhere he touched Dean. It wasn't like he could feel it with his bare fingers. It was more like a clammy feeling that he sensed. Sam locked his knees when Dean sagged into him. "Whoa, hey!" He said, quickly stooping to lock his arms around Dean's chest. Dean's head lolled onto the top of Sam's shoulder. "Dean?" No response. "Hey! Dean?!" Sam caught his brother tight to him and shrugged his shoulder. Dean's head fell back, nearly onto Sam's forearm where it rested just at Dean's shoulder blades. His eyes were closed, his breath coming in pants and fogging the air between them. "Damn it!" Sam cursed. "Dean wake up. Come on man; let me know you're okay here." Sam shook his brother slightly, gently chafing his arm with his free hand. Still no response.

"I am so never letting you live this down man." Sam said as he lifted Dean into a fireman's carry, gripping his right arm and right leg as tightly as the thick gloves would allow. Sam turned and picked up the rifle, attaching it securely to the carrier at his belt. He moved his shoulders, hunching just a bit to redistribute Dean's weight and took off through the fluffy snow towards the Impala, following their earlier trail. Dean's added weight made the deep snow more of a nuisance, Sam's feet sinking so that it was like wading through sand. He began to breathe more heavily, the air clouding with warm vapor in front of his eyes. Sam looked up the trail as a flash of movement caught his eye against the white landscape. He looked through the gray trunks of trees as he stilled totally, nearly holding his breath and tightening his grip on Dean's limp body. Ahead of them on the trail was a…

"Deer. It's just a freakin' deer. Last thing we need is something bigger, huh Dean?" Sam started walking and the deer remained still, just off the trails edge now, watching alertly but not afraid. Sam watched the animal, taking in the tan, thick, winter fur tipped in gray. The deer was a doe, muscular and intelligent looking as it watched the youngest Winchester care for his sibling. Soft brown eyes framed by long black lashes followed Sam's every step, watching as he passed by with his brother on his back. She turned to watch as they kept walking, actually taking a couple steps closer to Sam. She turned away when Sam sunk into the snow that piled into a dip on the trail, running off as he grunted and struggled to keep his hold on Dean as his leg threatened to fold beneath the added weight. Sam juggled Dean a little, eliciting a grunt from his still unconscious sibling as the jostle knocked the wind out of Dean. "Sorry man." Sam stood straight and took a deep breath, stepping up out of the rut in the trail and moving on. He rounded the bend at the head of the trail, now recognizing the gray bark of the stand of birch trees they had parked beside. The bare branches clicked off one another in the breeze that had begun to blow and Sam's cheeks reddened both with his exertion and the chill wind. The black paint of the Impala peeked from beneath the snow that had fallen from the branches over head.

"We're here Dean. I'm gonna get you warm." Sam held onto Dean's jacket and jeans, carefully letting go of Dean with one hand so he could open the passenger door of the car. Sam turned around and lowered himself enough that he was sure Dean's head would clear the roof of the car and allowed Dean to carefully slide off his back and onto the edge of the front seat. Sam turned quickly while holding Dean upright and reached a long arm into the back seat where a green army surplus blanket rested folded neatly on the black leather bench. He grabbed it and wrapped it around Dean as he situated his brother on the seat, pooling the edge of the blanket up nearly to Dean's chin. Sam tucked the blanket's edges under his brother and rubbed both hands up and down the coarse material briskly, using the friction to generate some warmth for Dean. "Okay Dean. You're gonna be okay now." Sam closed the door and sprinted around the car on aching, cold legs, sliding behind the wheel.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and fired the engine, directing the heat vents away from his brother until the engine warmed. Sam pulled carefully back onto the road and headed for the motel room they'd rented just yesterday. Dean's head lolled as Sam took a curve on the snow covered road and the car fishtailed just a bit. Sam reached a hand over and resettled Dean against the seat, feeling heat coming out of the vents as his hand crossed the space between Dean and the dash. He angled the vents to blow against Dean's chest and then switched his own to blow against his frozen hands on the wheel. Sam drove in silence for several more miles, the lights of the town finally coming into sight in the distance. Snow had started to fall gently and reflected the lights of the impala, causing the flakes to sparkle like white glitter._ It would be pretty if it hadn't helped half kill my brother._ Sam started from his thoughts when Dean groaned. Sam reached out his hand, touching his brother's chest through the blanket. Dean groaned again, his head rolling on the seat.

"Hey Dean. Hey, you with me man?"

"S'mmy?" Dean slurred, rolling his head over the seat back towards the sound of Sam's voice, the cold leather upholstery creaking under his shifting weight.

"Hey, yeah. We're on the way back to the motel."

"Cold." Dean whispered, his eyes remaining closed. Sam cast worried glances back at Dean every few seconds after Dean stilled and stopped talking. He swung the car into the motel lot and parked the car as close to the door as possible. He bolted from the car, still feeling the sting of his cold skin as the air hit it. He went around to the passenger side and opened the door, watching as Dean's eyes opened and his head rolled to face Sam.

"Hey dude. Let's getcha inside." Sam said, smiling as he breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the green of Dean's eyes. Dean swallowed hard and blinked.

"Still cold, Sammy."

**Catch you this weekend with the next chapters. Thanks again and in advance for hitting that little button! **


	11. Trust

**Soncnica's A/N: I am so happy that this project is working out and that you all are enjoying it. Okay, so this story is a fight, Kris gave me the plot, said a fight between the boys. I said alright, a fight. **

**Darksupernatural's A/N: So she wanted a fight. A real fight like we've seen recently. So she's done two scenes and here's the second one. They both rock. Don't forget to let her know that. Also, sorry about the lateness of the post. Between trying to keep up with real life, the recent slightly messy Northeast snowstorm and a twisted story that won't even let me sleep without a notebook nearby... Anyhow...  
**

**Enjoy...**

**TITLE: Trust**

**SUMMARY: A hunt gone wrong; and the trust is shattered? **

**AUTHOR: Soncnica**

"Damn it, Sam! What the hell was that!?" were words that flew out of Dean's mouth even before the motel door was shut closed. The picture on the wall shook, but didn't fall.

"I said I was sorry already!" Sam turned around, swiftly, almost crashing into the chair that stood on his path.

"Sorry isn't good enough!" the glass that sat on the table, the residue from the diner they had before leaving on the hunt, shook. Almost broke from the deep voice Dean possessed.

They stood, looking at each other, one angry and the other angrier. One almost sad, the other in complete shock. All was silent in the room, as if nothing dared to make noise or move. The place sensed that making a sound would be suicidal. So it remained quiet, locked into its own world…and left the two humans alone. In private.

"What else am I supposed to say?!"

The words weren't gentle, they weren't soft, they weren't whispered…they were yelled, screamed almost…and the windows shook from the voice.

"Nothing, Sam. Just…do it better next time!"

Sam huffed and never tore his eyes from his brother's. He wanted to understand the rage brewing in Dean's eyes; he wanted to grab it and throw it away…make it better. He knew he screwed up, he knew it and it hurt so bad…it hurt…tore him to pieces.

But you can not change things after they already happened.

"Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't see it."

Sam was almost pleading now. He knew they had to get over this fight soon, or else it would blind them next time. He had to restore the trust that was pretty obviously lost between them. He had to make this better. Make it right.

"Sam, I never thought that those years in college would make you this stupid." He almost spat out the word 'slow', but changed it in the last second to 'stupid'.

"I didn't see it!"

"It was standing right in front of you! How the hell couldn't you see it?!" The vein in Dean's neck stood out, and Sam was afraid that it would burst.

"I just didn't, I was too slow! I know! We lived, you lived, I shot it, and we survived."

"My head doesn't agree with that, Sam. Actually the lump on my head is suggesting that I throttle you. And really…I'm considering it."

"Hurts?" it was soft now, concern all over his voice, almost drowning in it.

The light flickered, the fridge made a noise, the curtain swung, a car passed by, a child cried, the room breathed. But it was all in vain, when Dean raised his voice again: "No, it's awesome. I just see double of you, and that, right now, is two too many!"

And the room became quiet again, leaving the boys alone…private. Like it should be.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"You said that already, and yet, nothing's changed!"

"I'll be more careful next time!"

Dean looked at Sam…looked at his eyes, at his baby brothers eyes, that were almost on the verge of breaking the wall and spilling down the tears.

"Next time? I wouldn't be so sure there will be a next time."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The things Dad thought us…how could you forget that stuff?"

"I didn't forget!"

Sam huffed and swallowed his anger. Swallowed the hurt those words brought. Swallowed it through the lump forming in his mouth.

"You forgot, you asshole, and you nearly got me killed!!"

"'m sorry."

The dam was going to break soon, and Sam wasn't sure that that was the brightest idea. Those words were directed straight to his heart…_killed_…his heart shattered, and pieces of it found their way to his stomach that rolled around a few times.

"Sorry?" one step closer to Sam, "Sam?" one step closer, his feet dragging on the brown carpet, "Really?!" and he was standing right in front of his brother. As tall as Sam was, he always felt smaller when Dean did this…stepped to him, angry. All his thoughts fled into one small one…make yourself as small as you can. So he hunched his shoulders.

Sam's eyes widened under Dean's searching gaze. Those eyes…those deep green eyes…the soul Dean radiated through them…was painful to see.

But Sam's eyes never left his brothers. Ever. It was a torture of a kind, looking at those big eyes, because all that he needed to know, all that he needed to fix…was written in there. And those things were never easy to survive through.

The greenness of those eyes shone in the light, enveloped in tight rage and…disappointment, sadness. Sam chocked on those emotions…and Dean turned around.

"Dean? Where are you going?"

"My lump and I need to get away from you."

Dean's hand never wavered from the door knob; he just twisted it and closed the door.

"Dean!!"

He needed air, he needed to breathe, and he needed to be alone. He needed his baby brother to be what he was, a hunter, a good one. A geek, a good one. Someone who he could trust…with his life. And today…that trust was just a fractured emotion; a feeling stepped on and pushed into mud. Squished like a damn fly.

The Impala was still warm, the leather seat still warm, the smell still lingered…mud and gasoline…dead people and gun powder. But it was his baby, and those smells were his life. And trust in his brother was his only bright point in those smells. The only thing he knew he had and the only thing he knew was entirely true…and his. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, _damn it, Sam. _

"I screwed up, okay?! I know I did, I'm sorry."

The voice was on his right, startling him out of his thoughts. He didn't even hear the door creak. He didn't even feel his brother's presence. But he heard Sam's voice.

"Man, Sam, what the hell?"

"I'm sorry, just…"

They looked at one another. Their eyes were battling a different battle than the one their mouths were. And the Impala remained silent and patient. She knew this, knew the fights, knew the laughter, knew the pain and the hurt. Knew when to be quiet and just…listen.

"I know you're sorry, I know that, but sorry isn't gonna cut it! And scaring the crap out of me, ain't gonna cut it either! "

"It was this one time, one time."

Sam's voice cracked.

"One time too many, Sam."

Dean's voice remained steady.

"What can I do to make it up? What?!"

"Nothing."

"Well, then why are you all over my ass? If I can't change anything, why are we still having this conversation?!"

He was loosing his patience, so fast. Too fast. Not fast enough?

It was Sam's eyes that convinced Dean to let it go…the softness in them, the almost tears, the shine and the deepness.

"Just promise me, you'll do better next time. Just…just don't apologize for things you can't change." Dean sighed.

Sam looked at him, looked at his big brother and saw…the plea, the plea to make this alright. He screwed up, he did something he never did before, and crashed Dean's illusion of Sam – the one he could trust.

All was silent. All was dark and silent. No wind, no people, no cars, no noise that would come between them, nothing that would distract them...pulled them out of their thoughts. Silence leaves you suffocating in things you don't wanna think about, kills you…piece by piece.

"Dean?"

Silence. Dean's eyes found a new target to bore its gaze into…the trees along the parking lot. Sam didn't know what kind of trees, he didn't care. He just saw them…tall and proud.

"Dean…I promise." _'m sorry._

"Good." _I know you are._

There was a beat of noise, when a truck stopped at the parking lot.

"You didn't get far." _Trust me?_

"Yeah, well 'm still seeing double." _I'll try._

A smile tugged at Sam's lips, but he couldn't let it win. Not yet.

"How's your head?"

"You come near my head, 'm gonna kill ya."

"Dean?" _I have to start somewhere with this trust thing._

"It hurts." _Fine, have it your way._

"Let me look." He raised his eyebrow.

Sam scooted closer to Dean, and showed him his hand _not gonna hurt you_ and touched the back of Dean's head. His fingers found the lump, beneath the short, soft hair drenched in sweat.

"'s no surprise, the lump has its own personality, 's huge." _'__m so sorry._

"Told ya." _I know._

"Beer?" _Jerk_

"Yeah." _Bitch_

And the Impala roared to life in an empty motel parking lot.

**Darksupernatural's _Practice Makes Perfect_ is coming up next. Don't forget to hit that little button for each of us. Love ya all!**


	12. Practice Makes Perfect

**Darksupernatural's A/N: So I wanted to see if I could pull off a descriptive sparring scene without fighting with my younger brother(he's bigger than me**, **it would hurt.) You'll have to let me know if I pulled it off. Enjoy...**

**Practice Makes Perfect**

**SUMMARY: Smooth moves and brother moments make well rounded guys.**

**AUTHOR: Darksupernatural  
**

"Why are we doin' this again?" Sam asked as he helped Dean move the couch back against the wall of their room.

"Grab the coffee table and move it outta the way. Remember what dad used to say?"

"Knowing how to fight means being the one still on your feet when it's over."

"'xactly." Dean said, smiling as he pulled off his ring and over shirt, putting the silver band in the pocket before putting the garment down on the couch. Sam sat the coffee table down in the doorway to the kitchenette and took off his shirt, revealing a gray tee. Sam took off his watch and laid it on the small table.

"We haven't sparred in years Dean."

"Oh quit worrying Samantha. It'll come back to ya. After all, you weren't that outta practice when we met up again. Just a little soft around the edges."

Sam smiled, his lips tipping up at the corners and dimples forming. "Dude, I kicked your ass."

"We'll see." Dean took a loose fighting stance, his fists relaxed, but raised to a level just below his chin. Sam mimicked the stance, his height bringing his fists level with Dean's face as he stayed about three feet from his brother. They began to circle each other, their bare feet silent on the clean beige carpet of the room.

Dean threw the first punch, bringing his right fist higher and directing it at Sam's throat. Sam's head moved to the side and the fist went by, the younger man seeing his first chance to get the better of his big brother. Sam sidestepped quickly and grabbed Dean's arm at the wrist, quickly spinning him to twist it behind his back, locking his other muscular arm around Dean's throat just tight enough to make Dean grunt. "Who's the sloppy one?"

Dean brought an elbow, the one Sam left free, back into Sam's midsection hard enough to elicit an "oof" from Sam. "Rookie mistake Sammy." Dean said as the hold on him was relaxed and he broke free, turning to face Sam again.

Sam straightened and lifted his fists again, going block for block with Dean for six rapid fire punches. The smack of flesh off flesh echoed through the room, bouncing off the oak paneled walls and mingling with the brothers' breathing. Sam had managed to advance on Dean with each punch, moving him across the room. Dean felt a wall closing in on his back and he shifted his stance, firing a punch at Sam's face which connected loosely. Sam stepped back one step and Dean reversed the direction, pushing Sam back the way he'd come.

Sam forced himself to stop moving back with Dean's advance and instead lifted a foot, connecting with Dean's ribs, pushing him away with a measured extension of his leg, his dad's words echoing in his head. _ When you spar with Dean you remember he's friend and not foe. Keep it tight but keep it under control._

Sam didn't let up, coming at Dean with several more punches and a forearm to the throat, making his brother gag. Dean stooped over, his eyes leaving Sam's face for just long enough for Sam to sweep Dean's feet out from under him with a low crouch and kick. Dean landed with a grunt on the soft carpet. Sam moved in and pinned Dean to the floor with a forearm to the chest. "Had enough, old man?"

"Not by a long shot Samantha." Dean lifted both knees and jabbed them into Sam's solar plexus. Sam gasped as he was propelled off of Dean to land on his back on the carpet. Dean flipped to his feet and pinned his brother, watching as Sam caught his breath, his mouth hanging open. "Aww, whatsa matter Sammy? Did I mess up your makeup?" Dean asked as he laid his forearm across Sam's chest and used his knees to pin each of Sam's arms to his sides.

Sam growled low in his throat and turned his hands against his sides pinching the inside of Dean's knees hard enough to bruise. "OW! What the hell was…? Guh!" Sam had broken Dean's hold on his hands and grabbed his brother's shoulders, lifting with his hips to throw his brother up and over his head. Dean landed on his back with a grunt in nearly the same position as before. Sam planted both hands on either of his head and bent his knees, propelling himself into a rolling back flip that took him clear up over Dean's head to land in a crouch. He grabbed Dean before he could get his wind back and rolled him onto his stomach, quickly pinning both arms at a painful angle behind his back and using a knee to the base of Dean's skull to hold his head immobile against he carpet.

"What? That? I taught Jess some self defense moves and she wound up teaching me. Don't worry; the bruises'll fade by next Tuesday."

"Let me up." Sam released Dean and let him roll onto his back, reaching out a hand to hoist him to his feet. Dean stood and looked at Sam, clapping him on both shoulders, and breathing slightly heavier than normal as he rolled his head to work the kinks out of his neck. "I'm glad you can do that now, Sam."

"What?"

"Talk about Jess."

"Yeah, well…" Sam raised his fists, "Round Two?"

Dean mimicked his stance, his tan line standing out where his washer ring should be. "Oh, definitely."

Sam jabbed and Dean blocked, bringing his forearm up to swat Sam's hand away, the smack of knuckles against tanned skin echoing throughout the room, laughter and breathing accompanying the random thumps and holds.

"Hey Sammy?" A kick, blocked. Held fast to a muscular side by a tightened elbow.

"Yeah?" The leg was released.

"Who the hell taught you to flip like that?"

"Picked it up watchin' the girl's gymnastics team at school."

"That's m'boy!" A smile lit up Dean's green eyes.

**We're going to try to have another set of chapters up by the middle of next week. This project is winding down as other ideas start to nag us. Please review!**


	13. Cave

TITLE: Cave

AUTHOR: Soncnica

A/N: hmmmmmmmm, no comment? I just hope you will all enjoy it! That is the only thing that matters.

Enjoy…

---

"Push!"

"You pull, I'll push!"

"I am pulling; you're the one who's not pushing!"

"Screw you!"

"Whatever, just push!"

"I would push if I could!" the strain in his voice was a sign that he was giving up.

"Dean, I swear if you don't push up, I'm gonna kill you!" _Dean push, please…_

"Nah, you wouldn't!" _'m trying. _

"Wanna try me!?" _try harder, please._

How the Hell did they end up like that?!

SNSN

A drop of water on his forehead woke him up. The tickle it caused, running down the tip of his nose, down his lips was the sign of trouble.

"Wha…?" He jerked awake, arms flaying around to hit a wall, damp and hard.

"What the…?"

He tried to get up, but the wet dirt he was currently sitting…laying on was too slimy to find purchase on. So he glided down on the floor again and made his peace with just sitting there and opening his eyes.

"Oh, oh, okay…it's dark." With opened eyes all he saw was darkness…

A soft breeze caressed his cheeks and dried the water drops that were steadily dripping on his hair.

"Sam!!!"

_Is it wise to yell? _

"Sammy!!!"

_Hell, yeah. _

The soft wind brought with it a smell that was all too familiar to him…decaying and rotting…

"Awesome." He whispered to himself and the words echoed in the space.

"Sam!!!"

He tried once more to scramble to his feet, but the ground was too muddy to actually get his feet firmly on the ground. One more try and he faced the fact that his behind was supposed to be firmly planted in the muddy ground. He could feel the wetness seeping through his jeans and he shivered.

"Hate mud, hate this case, hate this cave wannabe, hate this frigging rain, hate this crap, hate Sam…"

"Sam!!!" He yelled once again into the darkness and all he got back was the echo of his voice and Sam's name.

"Lovely."

He pulled up his knees and settled his forearms on them, making a fist with his hands.

"Lovely, lovely, just freakin' lovely…Sam!!!"

He needed to talk, he needed to keep calling Sam's name, and he needed to know that he was still alive in the darkness that was all around him.

"Lighter." _Stupid._

He dug around in his pockets until he grabbed the small object. Trying to light it up, he failed on at least five tries, and on the sixth one he nailed it: "Oh Jesus, crap…!" he pushed his body to the wall, almost breaking his back on the uneven wall.

There was a body laying on the opposite wall, half decayed and half fresh, by the look of it. Both legs broken, arms laying dead by its sides. Black, short wet hair, empty brown eyes, wet pale face, big nose, small chin, dark eyelashes that moved when water dripped on them, moved almost alive in a dead kind of way. Torn up clothes and hollow cheeks. Maggots in his mouth, dried blood on his cheeks…

"You scared the crap out of me, Jesus Christ, man."

He drank air, gulped it down like a starved man. He wiped a hand down his face, getting mud all over his cheeks, but he didn't care. His heart was racing, his lungs working overtime and the water was still drowning him with its drops that were soaking the place even more.

The lighter turned off when one drop hit it straight on and Dean didn't even flinch. He knew where he was and: "Sam, help!!!"

And once again all he got in return was the echo of his voice, thundering in the small space he was stuck in. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see the body of the man, smirking at him.

"What are you laughing at? Don't suppose you have anything to eat, huh?"When there was no answer: "Yeah suppose not."

"Sam!!!"

He placed his hands on the floor, trying to raise himself from the cold floor once again and then there was the sharp sting of: "Son of a bitch." Sprained wrist.

He pulled his right hand to his chest with lightning speed, trying to ease the pain, but it wasn't working. Cradling his hand in his lap: "So…fun, right?" He panted out to the corpse, feeling silly in his attempt to lighten up the situation…being stuck with a corpse and a sprained wrist in a cave thingy with no knowledge of where Sam was.

"Sammy!!!"

He flinched when the vibrations of his voice found his wrist, tripling the pain, making it sting.

He breathed, small puffs of air that stirred the calm surrounding…the darkness, the cold and the rain drops.

He leaned his head on the wall, looked up and counted the stars.

One; it flickered… "So, you've been here long?"

Two; it was partly covered by a tree root… "Nice hole you've got here."

Three; so bright… "So, ahem, Sam 's my brother, you know?"

Four; a drop of water fell into his eye… "He's cool, but don't tell him I said so."

Five… "'s freaking cold in here."

Six…"Sam!!!"

Seven; the North star… "He's gonna save me, so…don't think I'm gonna be here forever."

Eight… "The stars are bright tonight."

Nine, "Sammy!!!"

Ten… "Sprained wrist, man, it hurt's like a bitch…ah, you should know, right?"

Eleven…

"Dean!!!"

"You heard that? You hear that?" He asked the body of the man sprawled on the opposite wall.

"Dean!!!"

"Sam?!"

"Sammy!!?"

He tried to get up again, forgetting the sprain wrist, forgetting that the floor was slippery, forgetting the numbness in his legs, arms…chest. And that was his fatal mistake. Falling back down on the floor, he landed on the sprained wrist, hitting it hard enough to hear bones cracking.

"Argh!!!"

"Dean! Hey, you okay?"

Sam's head peeked into the hole, his body covering the night sky, his eyes unnaturally bright, the beam of his flashlight shining directly into Dean's chest.

"Dean, you okay?" breathlessly.

"Ahh, yeah, yeah, 'm fine, just get me out of here."

"Here…" A thick rope fell into the cave, hitting Dean's knees.

"Grab hold of it and push yourself up."

"Easy for you to say…'m injured here."

"What? What's wrong?"

"I, ah, I think I sprained my wrist."

"Okay, okay, ah…just tie the rope around your waist and I'll help you…crawl up."

"Sure, piece of cake."

Tying the rope behind his waist: "See, told you Sam'll come for me…and you didn't believe me…asshole."

"Ready?"

"Beam me up, Scotty."

"Dude, Star Trek?"

"Pull, Sam!"

His wrist was throbbing to match his heart beat and he barely managed to stand up. Sam was holding all of his weight and he couldn't care less…the floor was slippery, the corpse was looking at him _funny_ in the dark, laughing at him…and he started to push himself up the uneven wall. Rocks dug themselves in his palms, the soft dirt chipped when he tried to touch it and his wrist was becoming numb with pain.

"Push!" the voice came from over his head, his brothers voice, urgently calling him to not give up.

"You pull, I'll push!"

"I am pulling; you're the one who's not pushing!"

"Screw you!"

"Whatever, just push!"

"I would push if I could!" the strain in his voice was a sign that he was giving up.

"Dean, I swear if you don't push up, I'm gonna kill you!" _Dean push, please…_

"Nah, you wouldn't!" _'m trying. _

"Wanna try me?!" _try harder, please._

The rain on a clear night stopped at some point, but the slippery cave walls remained and Dean slipped on so many occasions, sliding down, losing footing, loosing strength…he lost count of it all.

"Dean!"

"What? 'm pushing up."

"Dean, look I know you're hurt, but I can't help you if you don't come up."

"Awww, Sammy you care."

"Dean, just push yourself up a little, just a little more and I'll be able to grab you, okay?!"

"How much is a little?"

"Just…a little, okay?"

It was all slippery, the walls caving in, the pain in his wrist so strong, he nearly fell back down, when the rope accidentally rubbed his skin.

"A little more. Just try."

Sam could see Dean crawling up the cave, it wasn't deep, but with the wet ground and Dean's wrist, the trip up took ages.

"It's freaking slippery, man."

"I know, I know, but come on."

When Dean felt Sam's strong hands on his shoulders he knew he was saved. Safe.

Finally lying on the ground, hearing Dean catch his breath, feeling the cold seep into his back, seeing Dean's hand lying comfortably on his rising chest, their shoulders touching, Sam had to say it: "You look like shit, man."

"I feel like shit too. I've been talking to a corpse for hours, dude."

Sam laughed; white teeth and dimples laugh.

"'s not funny."

"Oh yeah it is."

"Shut up."

"No…" The laughter stretched for miles.

"Injured man here."

"Okay, okay, come on, let's go."

Stumbling to the car, Dean had to ask: "How long was I in it?"

"Ah, ahem, fifteen minutes."

Dean would've fallen if Sam's hands weren't supporting him: "Well I did find our case, didn't I?"

"Or did he find you?"

"Shut up."

---

**Stay tuned for Darksupernatural's _Small Spaces and Time to Kill_. Please review for us!**


	14. Small Spaces and Time to Kill

**Darksupernatural's A/N: Yeah, me again. Glad so many of you are still enjoying all of this. **

**TITLE: Small Spaces and Time to Kill**

**AUTHOR: Darksupernatural**

**SUMMARY: Nothing like a closed door to start a conversation...  
**

The metal to metal clang of the vault door made him cringe. Dean turned back to the foot thick steel door, putting both hands against it and wanting to kick himself. The door was cold, frosty from the spirit's touch. The chill made his hands stick to the foggy white metal and sting as he pushed with all his strength.

"Aw, no, no. Damn it no." Dean curled his right fist tight, his ring twinkling in the wan overhead light from the single fixture in the center of the small room. He resisted the urge to punch the heavy metal of the walls or door and cursed the spirit under his breath. He turned away, going to where his brother lay motionless against the wall. Sam was stretched out on his side, a small cut on his forehead above his closed eyes steadily swelling and bruising purple-black around the edges. Dean pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket and held it gently over the cut, Sam's crimson blood coloring the fibers of the cloth. Sam's eyebrows furrowed and he groaned slightly.

"Hey Sam? Sammy, ya with me?" Dean asked as he put both knees on the cold steel floor and lifted Sam's head and shoulders with his free arm his left hand keeping pressure over the sluggishly bleeding wound.

"Mn. De?"

"Yeah Sammy. 'M here." Two foggy eyes opened and looked up into Dean's worried face as Dean tightened his grip on his little brother.

"What –appened?" Sam asked as he took over a shaky grip on the white cloth at his head. He moved to push himself out of Dean's arms and Dean shifted, helping Sam lean against the vault wall. Sam winced and shifted as the frost melted and cold water droplets seeped into his denim jacket.

"Friggin spirit. Knocked you upside the head and shut us in here."

"Lockdown?" Sam asked softly as he looked around the small room worriedly.

"Yeah. Damn thing only kills on the anniversary of the dude's death. We don't suffocate before…"

"And we should be able to get out at sunrise." Sam finished Dean's though for him, eyeing the walk in closet that the factory called a vault.

"Yeah. Guess so." Dean said, reaching out to take the red spotted cloth out of Sam's hand. He looked closely at the small, shallow cut and the bump and bruising that surrounded it. "Stopped bleeding." Dean clapped Sam on the knee. "Looks like you'll live, Sammy."

_Huff._ Sam's upper body remained still against the wall but he drew his long legs up to his chest, the ripped denim of his jeans tightening over the knees he now rested his wrists against. "Any sign of the bastard?"

"Naw." Dean said as he shifted beside his brother to mimic Sam's position against the wall. Instead of his wrist Dean lifted the black sawed off shotgun and rested it on his knees, his right hand remaining relaxed in its hold close to the trigger. "Think the dude gets his kicks watchin' the victims run outta air. All the vics suffocated like he did. Locked in the vault. Vent systems shot, smell the must?"

Sam's nose wrinkled and he paled, swallowing hard. "Yeah."

"I figure most of the people in this SNAFU panic. Run outta air before the joker goes to sleep for another year."

"So all we gotta do is not use too much air, not see the spirit and wait for sunrise. Sounds like the time of our lives." Sam said, his mouth turning up at the corners as he brushed his bangs back off his face, probing the cut on his forehead gently. He winced. Dean grabbed his wrist and lowered his hand.

"Don't make it bleed again Sam. I don't have anything on me to patch you up."

"I'm alright Dean."

"Yeah well…" Dean trailed off and looked around the small room, making note of the barren appearance of the gray steel walls and the thickness of the door and surrounding metal.

"What Dean?"

"Nothin." Dean continued perusing the room with his green eyes, seemingly finding it the most fascinating thing he could be looking at.

_Sigh._ "Dean."

"Look, I didn't like seein' you layin there like that okay?" He snapped. _Sigh._

"Okay." Sam eased his shoulder against his brother's. _I'm really okay._

He felt Dean bump him back gently. _ I know you are. I just worry._

-sn-

"Hey Dean, ya remember when dad took us on that hunt in Georgia?"

"The one that turned out to be two drunks making moonshine in the caves? The lights and the dudes trippin' in and out of the cave at all hours of the night made the locals nervous."

_Smile. _"Yeah."

"Dad was pissed." _Laugh._

Sam felt more water seeping into his jacket and leaned away from the wall, bumping shoulders with Dean again. "Looks like the room is warming up. Frost's melting." Dean pushed up from the floor and walked to the door. He pushed on the heavy metal again, puffing out a breath.

"Still tight." Dean said, as he shrugged out of his jacket. "You're right. 'S startin to warm up in here."

"Sit back down Dean. I get the feeling it's gonna get worse."

"Yeah. I know." Dean sat, this time keeping some distance between him and his brother. Silence won out for a bit and only the sounds of two sets of lungs expanding and contracting slowly, rhythmically, broke the quiet.

_Breath._

_Breath._

-sn-

"Would you have stayed at college if…?" Dean asked, looking at Sam through hooded eyes as he leaned his head against the steel wall.

"The fire hadn't happened?" Sam finished, brushing a wayward strand of long hair back behind his ear. "I don't know. I realized even with Jess beside me… I really didn't belong. I was still living like a hunter, just keeping it separate from her and my friends." _Huff. _ "I'd put salt in water and paint the door trim with it. Practice Latin by translating case studies and laws. It was hard. I never wanted to be a hunter… but it's like part of me was missing when I wasn't out there looking for it ya know?"

"You are such a geek." _Laugh._

"Yeah." _A breath._ Then silence took over once more.

-sn-

Sweat began to curl Sam's hair at the tips. His eyelids drooped and stomach churned at the smell of the stale air as he breathed. "What time…" he swallowed around his raspy voice and tried again, "… is it?" He didn't have the strength to lift his hand. Jackets were resting beside them, discarded. Over shirts unbuttoned and collars of tees stretched to give more breathing room.

"Four fifteen." _Breathless. _ Dean responded, tired. His green eyes closed and he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing with the effort.

"Sunrise is…"_sigh_ "five twenty-five."

"Yeah." Silence.

-sn-

A reddened face lifted, tired hands pushing sweat drenched hair back as a loud click sounded out in the room. Sam felt cool air brush him and watched, revived, as the door popped loose and opened just slightly with a grinding squeak. He pulled a deep breath into his lungs and moved his shaky body from the wall, wincing as his feet and butt stung with the sensation of a thousand pins sticking him. "Dean?" Sam shuffled to Dean's side on his knees, crouching again and nearly falling backwards as weakness gripped him tight. "Hey Dean?!" Sam said, stronger as he pulled in more cool, fresh air that seeped through the gap between the heavy door and the frame. He put his hands to Dean's neck, one shaking on either side. Dean's head lolled just a bit and Sam felt his brother draw a breath, deeper than he'd heard in a while. "That's it man. Breathe." _Breathe. We're okay._

"Mmnh…" Dean mumbled as he lifted his head where he was slumped against the wall. Sam was there, right in front of him, peering at him with alert hazel eyes. "Dude…" _breath, _"you're still a geek. Get off me." Dean pushed Sam away and Sam rebounded to help Dean to his feet, grabbing the rifle that had been discarded with the jackets. They turned in unison as Sam dropped his hand from Dean's elbow. Shoulders bumped. _Yeah, we're okay._ Dean pulled the vault door open with shaky hands and a deep breath.

"We come back here next year, I'm bringin' oxygen."

_Laugh. _"Now who's a geek? I thought dynamite."

**Next update as soon as we can. There's still a couple left to this, just stick with us. Love ya.  
**


	15. A Pulse, Your Pulse

**TITLE: A pulse, your pulse**

**SUMMARY: It's the only thing I can remember**

**AUTHOR: Soncnica  
**

**The title and the summary are taken from Snow Patrol's song: If there's a rocket tie me to it. So that means I don't own anything. Not the song, not the title, not the summary and especially not SPN…**_sobs_**. **

**I'm not gonna tell you what the story is about, but Kris wanted me to write the general idea behind it. ahhh, I don't know just read it…you'll see. **

**Enjoy…**

**---**

"Sammy!"

Nothing but the pounding rain, thunder and lightning reached his ears. Nothing but silence and fear. Nothing but horror of '_where is Sam?!_'

"Sam!!"

Nothing but harsh wind cutting into his cheeks and cold rain drops piercing his skin. Hitting his head, hitting his neck, hitting his face, hitting his chest…hurting in their strength, drilling deep into his flesh.

"Sam!"

Running as fast as he could, as fast as the muddy ground allowed him…sinking into the dirt, sinking into the earth so deep, he almost lost his shoes.

No breath, no air…nothing but darkness and thunder. Nothing but slippery floor and rain…no air. No nothing.

"Sam!!"

Silence of the wet woods, silence of the lightening and the deafening thunder…in his heart, in his ears, in his…mind.

"Sammy!!!"

He gripped the gun tighter, not letting it slip from his hands and he ran. Over rocks, over branches, over plants, over tree trunks that were laying on the floor, over his feet, over his heart and over his ability to think.

"Sam!"

Almost breathless now, his chest tightening, his legs trembling, his arms flailing…almost on the verge of collapsing and giving in. Almost…

His flashlight was a useless piece of crap, its light only illuminating a small space in front of his legs. Nothing more. He was stuck…stuck in the darkness of the woods, with tall trees laughing at him, mocking him with _Sam_.

Removing one thick branch, which was in his way, before his head would hit it he cursed. He didn't know where he was supposed to go, in which direction, and that squashed his heart in his chest and made a sob escape him. One little, unheard sob…lost in the noise the rain drops were making…hitting leaves, hitting trees, hitting the floor, hitting him.

"Sam…"

Weaker now, almost on the edge…going down into the freezing pit of despair. Lost his brother, lost his life, lost his…mind. Lost his breath…lost everything.

"Sammy!!!" deep and loud, taking out from the last resources of strength he had in him.

"…_eyes."_

"Sam?"

His heart quickened, his feet stopped and his eyes searched around himself. Frozen on his spot, somewhere between a rock and a tree, he heard it again…

"_your…eyes."_

"Sammy?"

He looked around himself, quick glances into the darkness behind him, slow looks into the dark space before him…nothing. Nothing but silence and rain.

"_Open your eyes."_

"Sam?!"

"_Dean."_

The raindrops hitting his eyelashes made his eyes close just for one second, just to get his bearing back, just to draw in air that was never really there.

One long streak of lightening over the thick, black sky and his breath hitched, stuck in his throat, stuck on the word _Sammy_.

"Sammy?!"

"Okay, 's good, you're good, Dean."

Words were tumbling out of Sam's mouth, hitting each other in their haste.

With no clear intention, almost as an automatic response to waking up, he gripped Sam's wrist that was hovering above his chest and squeezed. His fingers found Sam's pulse point beneath the thin skin there.

The swiftness of the motion caught Sam unprepared, the tight grip Dean had on his wrist only allowed him to mutter a soft: "Dean?"

Sam's eyes were huge and then small, teary and shiny in the dim light of the room. But his pulse was vibrating, fast flutter beneath Dean's fingertips. Alive. Here.

Relaxing. Breathing. Falling asleep with Sam's pulse still a rhythmic lullaby beneath his fingers.

**Stay tuned for darksupernatural's _Squeaky Boards Let You Know You're Home. _Please leave a review!**


	16. Squeaky Boards Let You Know You're Home

**Darksupernatural's A/N: Hey! Just to let you know,*sniffles* there's only one more set of two chapter updates after this. But for all of you who loved this project, I do have another one in mind to share with Soncnica in the near future. I'm just hoping she still wants to work with me. Enjoy...**

**TITLE: Squeaky Boards Let You Know You're Home**

**SUMMARY: They don't have a real home, but that doesn't stop them from feeling safe.**

**AUTHOR: Darksupernatural  
**

Gravel crunched under the tires of the heavy black car as Dean pulled to a stop at the only real home he's ever known besides the one he was in now. He looked through the windshield, turning on the wipers to clear the distortion of the raindrops. He shifted the car into park, seeing the old root beer colored Thunderbird parked near the house, the hood open but down to shelter the engine from the rain. Primer spotted the old car's solid, long body and let Dean know it was a restoration Bobby was working on. His old blue truck, the Ford tow truck that he's had as long as Dean could remember was parked under the oak tree. Bobby's dog slept under the front bumper of the truck, his black fur making him nearly invisible. Only the moonlight reflecting off his chain led Dean to believe he was truly there.

The old, slightly ramshackle house came into focus before his tired eyes. He saw the porch, hearing the creaks of the weathered wood of the first step and the seventh board from the end like he'd just stepped on them with aching, tired feet. He looked at the house, seeing the hubcaps nailed to the wooden siding with the peeling white paint and knew a different protection sigil rested under each, camouflaged by the shiny metal bearing the emblems for Dodge, Chevy, Ford, all indiscriminately.

A light burned in the library, the room, surprisingly, that Dean found himself most comfortable in. The room he knew that he was completely welcome in. Images of the red wallpaper and poor lighting flashed through his hazy mind, the off white design of the paper itself cleverly hiding protection wards from nearly every religion in existence and just as many long un-practiced and forgotten.

Dust. He could smell it and he wasn't even in the room. It was the smell associated with ancient books and creaky leather bindings that stained your hands when the material flaked and turned to dust itself in your fingers. Yellow pages-Dean smiled- yellowed, fragile pages that sucked his brother in during his perusal and study of… well, anything and everything; flaked and chipped even when handled with the utmost care.

_Sammy._ Dean looked at his brother. Sam's head rested against the window, his breath fogging the water spotted glass. Dean's eyes roamed Sam's face, taking in the darkening bruise on his left cheekbone, the black-purple-blue-green of the mottled mark a badge of failure on Dean's chest. A heavy one. Pain lines marred Sam's features as his eyelids lifted to a weary half mast. Sam's right arm came up sluggishly to clutch his left to his chest. Dean knew that more bruises lurked beneath the white tee-shirt, white over shirt with the red design on the inside that was visible through the material and finally the gray denim jacket that would be hard to get Sam's sore body out of without more pain. The weight of failure shifted from Dean's chest to his neck, becoming a pendant on a heavy chain, pulling him down.

"Where are we?" Sam asked softly, pushing the words out of a dry throat as his head leaned back against the seat and his eyes closed again.

"Bobby's. Come on Sammy, let's getcha inside."

"'k." Sam's eyes remained closed, the purple smudges and tight lines adding to Dean's weight. Dean opened the door with a protesting groan, as if the warm interior of the car snubbed its nose at the chilly rain, refusing to mingle. Shutting the door after heaving himself off the seat and onto tired legs, the weight pulling him down, down, he made his way around the car. Another squeaking groan and Sam shivered as he was blasted with chilly air; the very same air that had been snubbed now gave chase to fleeing warmth as the breeze blew by. Sam groaned and his eyes blinked as Dean leaned into the car, lifting his feet out of the foot well with no help from his little brother. Dean looked at Sam's face again, seeing all his concentration centered on just keeping his eyes open.

"C'mon Sammy." Dean said, turning Sam on the seat as Sam finally got the impulse from his tired mind to shoot through his nerves, kicking his motor skills into a sluggish first gear. Sam leaned heavily into Dean as he forced himself to stand, his good arm now looped over Dean's shoulders and held fast by a hand whose thumb was massaging, soothing, trying to apologize without words that would never come.

_I'm sorry,_ That motion, that comforting touch that made tears sting tired hazel eyes, said._ I let you get hurt. I'm sorry. I'll make it better._

"I know you will," whispered words.

"What?" A soft voice, spoken level and nearly touching Sam's good shoulder as a step was taken up the stairs. _Crreak._ Dean smiled. _Right where I knew it was. Everything's gonna be okay._ Another soothing circle with a thumb.

"Nothing."

"Three more steps and we're on the porch."

Steps and breaths and a brother trusting another implicitly and another _crreeeaak _as they crossed to the door. _Yep, you're gonna be okay Sammy, _was spoken with the tightening of fingers around the back of a belt and a shoulder offering more support as the weight got lighter, stopped pulling Dean down.

_Squeak_ as a door opened, _bang _ and closed.

"Dean?! Sam?! What happened?"

"Sammy needs to rest." _ Hey Sammy, we're here. I'm gonna make you better now._

Long hair brushed a stubble covered jaw as Sam leaned on Dean. An arm tightened in response to another circling of a thumb.

_I know you will._

_**Next update soon. Thanks!**  
_


	17. Night Skies

**Darksupernatural's A/N: So here we finally are. RL can be such a pain at times but here it is. The long awaited end to our Co-write. I'm taking point on this one because I asked Soncnica for a masterpiece and the only fitting spot for her story is the Grand Finale. Now, now, don't skip mine just to get to hers (just kidding!) Seriously though, read this one and then reach for the tissues. You'll need them.**

**Soncnica, I've so appreciated working with you. You've taught me so much about how a few little words and a little bit of description can bring even the smallest of actions to life. We will have another project together! I love ya sweetie!**

**I wrote this a long time ago to finish out my half of the project. It's before the truly awful fighting both on the show and in the fandom(see my profile and do me a favor, take a look at Muffy Morrigan's too.) It's a true BROTHER MOMENT and we truly need it right now. It fits. If you don't feel like you can handle a brother moment then do me another favor and don't read this after all. But don't spoil this for me either because **_**I**_** need the moment.**

**So, to all the people who are going to read this and enjoy it, THANKS FOR ALL YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT FOR BOTH OF US.**

**TITLE: Night Skies**

**SUMMARY: A new night, a new hunt finished.**

The fire flared brightly, red and yellow flame obscuring the blue-white light of the moon. An inhuman shriek rent the air, split the night wide open, made Sam's ears beg to bleed in its intensity. The Wendigo's shriek died to a gurgling groan and finally to silence as the flare did its job. Dean quickly rolled the smoldering body off him, falling back to the leaves breathlessly as it burst into flames that began to greedily consume the tainted, dried out flesh.

"Dean! Hey, ya alright man?" Sam crouched down, resting a large hand lightly on Dean's chest while checking him for injury.

Dean swallowed hard and fought to catch the breath that had been forced from his lungs by the impact of the emaciated yet heavy body.

"'Mokay." Dean's hand came up and rested on his heaving chest, knuckles brushing his little brother's wrist that still rested there. Dean could feel the frantic beat of Sam's pulse. _Too fast Sammy. Gotta slow it down. _Dean consciously slowed his breathing, taking deep but regular breaths even as he felt his ribs twinge in protest. He swallowed hard again. His eyes caught Sam doing the same before Sam's feet shuffled and his crouched position changed in the leaves. The shuffling noise the dry leaves made was amplified as it echoed through all the little hollows between before finally reaching Dean's ears where they were on the same level as the sound. Dean felt a bit like he had his ear to the tracks, listening for the train to come.

Sam held out a hand, meaning to hoist Dean to his feet. Dean batted it away, a gently swipe with the back of his hand. "'m stayin' here."

"Huh?"

Dean's eyes slid away, looking up. "Sky's cool lookin'."

"Ya sure ya didn't hit your head, Dean?"

"Thought you'd be the one to appreciate the cosmic picture, Samantha." Dean's abs flexed and both hands lashed out, catching fistfuls of Sam's jacket. A quick twist of his upper body had Sam flipped over Dean's torso and onto his own back beside Dean.

"Ooof." Sam croaked as he landed.

"There princess. Isn't that better?" Dean pointed up. "Wish upon a star time Sammy."

Sam looked skyward, seeing the three quarter moon hanging high. The night sky was a deep, inky indigo color dotted few and far between with stars just emerging for the night.

"Huh." Sam said, going still and quiet.

"See? Nice night." A sigh escaped Dean.

"Yeah, it is." Sam's eyes shifted while his body remained still. He took in both the sky and the tops of the trees that surrounded them, marking the boundaries of their universe at the moment. He knew the trees, Maples, red orange in the moonlight, proudly wearing their fall colors for whoever chose to see. Oaks, golden and already dry yet hanging on valiantly as they would until Spring when the new growth decided to push them away. A solitary Locust tree resided nearby, it's small, narrow leaves the color of the sun itself, so yellow that they would be blinding in the light of day. Flaming red creeper vines worked themselves into the tightest embrace around the trunk, hugging it as they reached for the heavens, stretching up through the limbs, hanging precariously from the smallest twig.

"The leaves are pretty amazing."

"Yep." Dean said, his head rolling to take in the sights Sam wished to share. In his peripheral vision he saw Sam's hand come up to rest on his chest in a copycat of Dean's own. "Ya know mom used to say that if ya wish on a twinkling star the moment it comes into being for the night it would always come true."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Yeah."

"What for?"

"A little brother."

"And ya got…?"

"A pain in my ass." Dean interrupted Sam's words. Sam spluttered, Dean spoke.

"Root."

"What?"

"I'm layin' on a root. It's a pain in my ass." Dean pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his backside through his jeans and dislodging leaves before extending the hand to Sam. Sam took it in a grip around Dean's forearm, Dean locking his hand around Sam's wrist before hoisting him to his feet. "My wish did come true ya know." Dean said quietly, facing Sam as green eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

"Ya really wished for a brother? On a star?"

"Damn straight. Dude, I was three." Dean said, cuffing Sam lightly on the back of the head and dislodging a leaf trying to snuggle into Sam's unruly chestnut hair. "Not just a brother either. I was specific. I had a list."

"Oh yeah?" The corners of Sam's lips twitched up, a dimple becoming visible in the moonlight.

"Yep, one to ten what I wanted. Only remember number one though."

"What was that?"

"The best little brother a guy could ask for."

Sam stilled and blinked.

"Come on. Let's get back to the car. I hate camping. Somehow it never goes right." Dean turned and trudged through the leaves. Sam shook his head, still silent and smiling and took off along Dean's path, catching up to walk by his big brother's side.

**Review for me? I really hope you enjoyed this. Seriously, reach for the tissues now and click away. **


	18. Eight Days Before the Full Moon

**Title: Eight Days Before the Full Moon**

**Author: Soncnica**

**Summary: when everything was still okay.**

**A/N: It's all my fault!!! It took me a while to come up with this, the last chapter of Moments, the last chapter from me. I am soooo sorry for your wait. So sorry! **

**Darksupernatural…without your strong support I think I would never finish this…you are just amazingly patient and all around just an awesome person…thank you so much for not giving up on me my friend! **

**It makes me sad that this is ending ***_**cries***_**, but as they say after every ending there comes a fresh start. So…I hope this ending is just another beginning. Thank you very much to all of you who have read these little stories of ours and again…I'm sorry!**

**Enjoy…**

---

Eight days before the full moon, the sky was black.

Pitch black.

There were no stars to count, no clouds to see shapes in, there was absolutely nothing…pure emptiness. Just the barrenness of the hollow, wide sky.

The darkness was finally broken when an airplane made its way across the horizon. It's blinking marker lights, it's exhaust fuels, that long stripe of white smoke were the only thing that broke the boring space.

The Impala blended with the sky perfectly…all black and silent on the wide, dark road.

No birds chirping in the trees, no wind to whistle around the corner, no noise…nothing but the hum of the car's engine as its tires were eating up the pavement like they were starving.

"Sam?" concern dripping from his voice: "You okay?"

"Yeah." A lie with shiny eyes in the dark world.

Five days before the full moon, the sky was covered with white clouds. Thin, long stretches of clouds.

Maybe they were the harbingers of rain, maybe not. Maybe they weren't even clouds, but fog, that rose up with the wind. The wind that was whistling, talking, whispering…pushing them along the sky, making them stop around the 'soon to be' full moon. They caressed her, whispered to her, made her glow ocean blue…a blue circle around the moon…trouble.

"_Sam, where are you?"_

It was a voice on the phone, and Sam could only say: "Back off, Dean."

"_Are you nuts?"_

"Dean…"

"_You tell me right the Hell now, where you are and I might not kill ya when I find ya."_

Dean was met with a click, when the line went dead: "Son of a bitch."

But the words were spoken to no one in particular…there was only the wind to pick them up and carry them to the moon…with a blue circle around her that was slowly turning red…trouble.

One day before the full moon, the sky was full of stars. Flickering, shining, smiling, bright and yellow. It is said that the light you see now was made millions of years ago…most of the stars are already dead. Gone…but not forgotten. There were no clouds this time, no wind…only silence and the impossibly bright moon.

It would be better if the night would be stormy and cold, more fitting maybe. But bad things happen on shiny nights too. The worst things happen when the stars and moon mock the tears of the broken.

The street was quiet, alone it would seem abandoned to the naked eye. But life was just...hidden…inside the low built houses, inside…where it's safe.

His stride was wide and hurried, almost running down the sidewalk. A dog barked and he hunched low, listening and holding his breath. Another bark and a whine and all fell silent again. A star flickered, when an airplane passed it. Winking out before glowing once more.

The doorknob was made of silver. It glistened in the silver light of the moon…and it was cold to the touch. Cold…dead.

"Sam?" a whisper into the dark house.

There was a carpet on the floor, red, blue, green, yellow. It was soft…it silenced his footsteps when he walked. It was soft…and his boots got lost in the fabric. It was soft…and his heart started to beat faster.

"Sammy?" a whisper into the living room. The darkness there was interrupted by the moonlight…long strips of her rays, falling over the couch, bouncing off the TV screen, and bathing in the blood that was spilled on the floor. Drops of it were painting the polished wooden floor near the fireplace.

"Sam!" no time for whispers, no more restrain.

"Sam!!" Dean's steps became erratic, no time for subtle… no time for stealth. A mantra echoed in his head, following the beat of his steps, nearly drowning out the beat of his heart.

_Gotta find Sam, gotta find Sam, gotta find Sam…_

The living room was a mess, table on the floor was smashed, the couch was ripped apart, the bookcases were lying on the floor with Encyclopedias scattered around them.

"SAM!!!"

The kitchen smelled of baked potatoes and roast beef. Maybe some coffee too.

The bathroom was cold, towels wet, bathtub filled with white soapy water and a man. Broken neck.

Dean ran upstairs, skipping stairs, his heart skipping beats, his breath only a shadow in his lungs.

"Sam!!"

The first door to the left was closed. Dean chanced a look…he had to see.

One bed, light blue walls, one closet and one boy. Broken neck.

Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't…couldn't. There were spots dancing in front of his eyes before they carefully settled on the carpet.

The hall had a carpet. A red one. A long, red one. No blood. No dead people. Nothing, but a small table with crooked legs and a vase with flowers. Dead flowers. Roses. Black ones, crinkled, shed petals decorating the top of the table, black spots on the dark oak wood grain.

"Sammy?" back to whispers, back to being subtle, back to being careful.

The next door revealed the upstairs bathroom. A lot of lipsticks, perfumes and a basket of dirty laundry. No one dead.

"Sam."

He slid his arm over the wall; it was cold and hard. It held pictures…a family…dad, a little boy, a little girl, mom. He found two of them already, the other two…he swallowed and closed his eyes for a second, digging his fingers into the wall.

_This ain't happening…_

There was only one more door…one brown wooden door to open. One that had a sign on saying: 'The Princess of the house lives here'.

A little girl's room. Pink walls and ponies decorating the book shelves. The bed was neatly made, pink bed nonetheless. Everything was pink, except one tiny leg peeking from behind the farthest side of the bed. The leg had a white sock on it. White as snow. The fabric the color of innocence, the lace ruffle mirroring the softness of a child's laugh.

Dean stepped into the room. The smell hit him hard, almost knocking him on his ass. He stepped one step back, calmed himself and stepped one step forward.

The girl was six, maybe seven. Her hair was long and the color of wheat. She was…she would be a heart breaker when…if she would ever grow up. Her dress was yellow, with white ribbons around her waist. Her eyes were opened…black abysses of nothingness. It seemed as if they were burned out, black ash ringing the light lashes. Dean choked.

"Sam!"

He saw his brother, slouched down next to a white closet, with a big mirror on it. Eyes closed, dried blood running from his nose, stopping on his upper lip. His hair was wet, no, not wet, greasy. His clothes were a mess of shirts, jacket and jeans that hadn't been washed in ages. But in reality they were washed only eight days ago. Eight days ago when the day was sunny and bright and the night was pitch black. Eight days ago when the phone call came, that changed everything…Lilith. Eight days ago when their lives were still…okay.

Eight days ago when this…all of this…was just a wish and a dream and a hope and a nightmare all in the same breath. Dreaded and looked forward to all at once. A chance at a new beginning and taking chances with the end of it all. All in one stop, all in one moment.

"Sam!"

His brother's face was cold, clammy, sweaty…his head too heavy to hold itself up, his body…cold.

On the night when the full moon smiled down with its big chubby face, there was one word heard in the car…

"Sammy!"

One soft word that was locked in Dean's head for one day…when Sam was a limp form on the motel bed with the scratchy blanket, when Sam's blood was a pink stain on a white motel towel, when Sam's breath was so shallow, that Dean had to place a mirror in front of his nose to see if there was a breath at all, when Sam's skin was pale as the skin of a dead man.

Only one touch…

One soft touch that Dean didn't dare to do, his fingertips sneaking to Sam's neck, to that place where you can feel a person's life…

"Sam…"

Only one beat of the heart…

One beat of a heart over the fear that was ripping Dean's spine out of his back, one beat of a heart in his chest when he thought his heart had already stopped, one beat of a heart beneath the sensitive skin of his fingertips pressed to the cold, clammy skin.

"Sammy…"

that soon became two…

_Don't ever scare me like that again…I'll kill you, I swear I will!_

One strong heartbeat and a full breath later, Sam's fingers twitched on the black leather seat of the Impala.

When the bright night swallowed the car, Dean's voice found Sam's ears: "You're home…I gotcha."

**The End**

**So from Darksupernatural and Soncnica: We hope you really enjoyed this experience and are willing to leave a final review for each of us. We loved writing this together and we WILL be back with another(possibly reader interactive) project if the idea keeps bugging DS.(you can breathe again Emerald-Water) And if Soncnica will agree to it. Remember when we started this project we were hoping for a few comments and a kind word or two and the response has been truly amazing. We thank you for this.**

**Remember, read back through your favorite ones and if you want to see an extension of something in particular PM us and we'll see if the writing bug bites. THANKS SO MUCH FOR MAKING THIS SUCH A WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE! LOVE TO YOU ALL.  
**


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